


Spread your wings and fly away

by welcometonightvale



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abduction, Abuse, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Conflict, Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Confused Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Friendship, Homophobia, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Orgasm, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience, Smut, Soulmates, Tears, Torture, Violence, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), Whump, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-06-26 08:38:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometonightvale/pseuds/welcometonightvale
Summary: I have the feeling that should I update the summary.But at the same time, I don't want to reveal the whole story.Someone has to take their anger out on Aziraphale and Crowley.Crowley needs help to fix things and some humans turn out to be friends.~~~~~





	1. Prologue / Flashback

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there.  
> This is **so** unbeta'd because I don't know anyone in this fandom.  
> I apologize in advance for grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language.  
>   
> 

**Scotland, 1601**

The darkly dressed figure sat high on their horse and gazed at the sea. The black gelding stood calmly on the beach, although the surf foamed right in front of them.

He had just missed him in Edinburgh, which was almost to be expected. So he too made his way home. He had already travelled some miles when he had to stop at the beach of Portobello to watch the waves. It wasn't that stormy, but the clouds were already hanging low above the horizon. The sea was never the same, he thought in a philosophical mood. Yesterday the waves appeared rather grey, but today they were shining deep blue, even with a green shimmer where the sun broke through the clouds. "Teal," he sighed and continued his journey.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shot up and emerged _close_ behind Aziraphale. The angel jumped when Crowley put his hand on his shoulder and casually said "You know, _angel_ , you're right. We should pay _our friends_ a visit, we haven't really seen them for a long time and I know that's important to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be put off by the fact that the two of them seem a bit awkward in dealing with each other. Better times are ahead!

The Apocalypse didn't happen. A nightingale sang in Berkeley square while there was at least one angel dining at the Ritz. And then... life went on. 

The summer faded into a rainy autumn and the streets of London were covered with wet, brown leaves and sludgy puddles. In one of the bookshops in Soho, the owner hung up the phone. Aziraphale got used to calling Anathema Device every now and then since then. She decided to stay in the country for a while. Firstly, she had no obligations anymore and because of the prophecies and clever stock market transactions, she was all set. Secondly, she seemed to be fairly in love with the so-called Witchfinder Newton Pulsifer. Well he did indeed find one, didn't he?

On his way to the kitchenette he put the book he was currently reading thoughtlessly into an overflowing bookshelf. He had a specific classification system, but he wouldn’t be able to find this very book again for a while.

 _The human concept of love is a strange thing_ , Aziraphale thought while filling the kettle with water. They barely knew each other and still, he could sense the love between Anathema and Newt when he was talking to either of them. 

Of course, he himself was also able to feel affection for others, naturally. That was part of the job description. The point that was not mentioned anywhere were the feelings that he developed for Crowley over the course of the years, decades, centuries... He couldn't wrap his mind around it and he was trying really hard not to deal with it. It was as if their friendship grew stronger over the years. Is this the regular course of things and only because they were not human did it take a correspondingly longer time to develop? Or was this something else? He made a promise to himself that, in case the apocalypse could be averted, he would talk to Crowley about it. 

“Crowley, dear. I have come to the... conclusion that we are connected by a much more, ah, intimate? friendship than I had previously thought. **No, this is utter nonsense!”** Obviously he seemed to be the coward the other angels thought he was. He exhaled deeply.

Crowley was hard to read and most of the time he radiated sarcasm or ambiguity. Presumably, this was a characteristic of a demon. To what extent did they even feel positive feelings that were not based on harming others or making fun of someone? No, here he did him wrong! During the last 6000 years and the last 11, in particular, Crowley let feelings shine through that Aziraphale at the very beginning of their relationship wasn't aware a demon could have. He couldn't deny he was fond of Warlock or that he didn't enjoy Azirapahle’s company during dinner or the wine at the bookshop afterwards. At the bandstand when Crowley suggested they could go off together, he emanated a sudden wave of passion it hit Aziraphale in the stomach, metaphorically speaking. So yes, Aziraphale knew that Crowley felt something, but he wasn't good at analysing or determining it. And when he thought too long about it, he slightly panicked.  


He hadn't a close friend (well... besides Crowley) to talk to until he met Anathema, Newt and the children. They changed numbers that evening and after some days, Aziraphale called Adam to thank him for restoring the shop and the Bentley. Shortly thereafter, Anathema called him and asked how they were doing. He didn't tell her in detail what was on his mind regarding the _friendship issue_ but she dropped pointy remarks sometimes when he mentioned Crowley. Nevertheless, he really enjoyed the small talk and thought that they were really nice people to keep in his life. Adam was a remarkable boy and full of the craziest ideas, Newt always kind of awkward and Anathema a sceptical person but he appreciated talking to her once she opened up a little.  
He sighed when he opened the shop. He didn't like it when customers came in with their soaking wet brollies, dribbling all over the place.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was already around 11am when Crowley decided to finally get out of bed. He had to force himself to, because the whole autumn concept wasn't exactly what he enjoyed. But he couldn't stay in bed either, he just slept for about a week and he couldn't sleep on because something occupied his mind (since the summer and the Apocalypse and his whole stomach hurt, to be honest) and... he just couldn't handle it anymore. He was feeling deeply disappointed about how things turned out so far. He had hoped that now that they were free of _obligations_ , it was possible to clarify certain _things_. Crowley has been attracted to Aziraphale since the dawn of time. Kind-hearted and seemingly naive Principality. Sent to earth to be a guardian of the eastern gate of Eden. Than the incident with the fucking sword. His first adversary, although it was always more than a game from his point of view and Aziraphale was always bewildered by that fact. Crowley didn't seem to care about rules or anything. He never took things as serious as his _colleagues_ below.  


With a groan he got out of bed and into the shower. A hot shower would feel much better than just miracle himself refreshed he thought as he looked out of the window and shivered.  


_Think it's okay to pay the bookshop a visit today,_ he thought. It's been at least 10 days. No, not at least. Precisely. They were having dinner together at that Japanese restaurant on Old Compton Street. Their hands had touched when Aziraphale handed him the sake. It seemed as if the angel flinched at the slight touch and began to blush. He did ask him to come back to the bookshop for a nightcap but he was kind of restrained. Crowley was brooding over this behaviour while letting hot water run over his lanky body. How could he bring up the subject without making an idiot out of himself? He tried to think about how to address the whole… matter.

"Aziraphale, look. I was thinking. About... about us? About our side. You remember that one time when you wanted to tempt me into eating oysters? I liked that. Not the oysters, they were horrible. The tempting attempt. In fact, there are many things that - **This is absolute bullshit!"**

No, that sounded just so wrong and this wasn't what he wanted to express. He got enraged. He was angry he couldn't find the right words and furious that the angel didn't do anything, just living on as they did for oh-so-many-years. In a sudden irrational act he slammed his fist against the wall. Two tiles broke. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the bad weather, there were more customers in the store than usual. The fact that he had to keep an eye on everything made him nervous. Especially a mother, browsing the shelves. Her about five-year-old child fetched book after book from a shelf to build a small tower with it. He felt literally exhausted when the two finally left the store. Right after that, the bell rang again and Crowley stepped into the store.  


"Oh, hello! Haven't seen you around lately, haven't I" the angel smiled at him. "Hullo" Crowley replied with a tight-lipped voice, feeling a slow heat building up in his chest. _No, I won't do this, I can't do this. Not today._ He forced himself to a little smile and walked into the backroom and flopped onto the sofa.  


"Some tea, dear?"  


"Yeah sure, why not." Crowley leaned back and looked through the door. There were three more customers, one of whom he had seen here several times. Since Aziraphale was keen not to sell any books, he was surprised that someone had come here several times.  


"Here you go" Aziraphale handed him a cup. He sat down on his armchair with his own cup.  


"You know," he said in a low tone, "I'm thinking of closing after these customers. Today was quite a day." He sighed dramatically.  


"Yes, three customers at once, how to deal with it!" Crowley smirked, but lost in thought.  


Aziraphale hesitated a little before he changed the subject. "Listen, I spoke to Anathema on the phone this morning. She invited us to visit her. Well, her and Newton and the children. She will probably stay longer in the country, but she doesn't know if she will stay in Tadfield. And since the children live there, she thought it would be a nice idea if we all, well I... I don't know if you'd like that? I said I had to ask you first." He glanced at his cup.  
"Oh, the book girl and the nerd... the Antichrist and his gang..." He made a sound that made it impossible to tell whether he found the idea totally absurd or completely idiotic.  


"All right," the angel said, the disappointment could not be overheard. "I'll let her know that we will not come." He looked up as he saw a movement at the counter, someone cleared his throat. "Excuse me", he said and louder "One moment please, I'm coming." He went into the front room.  


Crowley put the cup on the floor and looked at the ceiling. He had a bad conscience, especially when he realized how much Aziraphale was looking forward to this _reunion_. He didn't have the connection to these people like the angel had. He was on the phone with the girl on a regular basis, but the demon had only spent one evening with them in the cottage. He had to admit that he felt jealous when he saw Aziraphale joking (awkward but adorable) around and getting comfortable with them. Or any person... For example, this particular customer, who had already been to the store several times and was currently standing right next to Aziraphale, a book in his hands. He was explaining something to him. The man chuckled and touched him on his upper arm. Now that went _way_ too far.  


He shot up and emerged _close_ behind Aziraphale. The angel jumped when Crowley put his hand on his shoulder and casually said "You know, _angel_ , you're right. We should pay _our friends_ a visit, we haven't really seen them for a long time and I know that's important to you." Aziraphale nodded confused but apparently pleased and Crowley slowly turned his head towards the customer and gave him a toothy smile. "Excuse me, but we're about to close." The angel stood there petrified and felt the arm warm and heavy on his shoulder, the warmth of the demon's body shooting through him. He was staring at him but had to force himself to look away. "Oh, oh yes... I'm terribly sorry about that, but unfortunately, that's correct."  


Aziraphale switched the sign to _closed_. "I am very pleased that you have changed your mind, my dear" He beamed at him. "I'll call Tadfield right away and let them know that we'll be there on Saturday." He seemed to be very excited. They didn't leave London very often and without an Apocalypse to prevent, there was no need to at the moment. So yes, It might be a good idea, after all, Crowley thought. He heard Aziraphale picking up the phone.  


"Hello, Newton. How are you? ... Oh, that sounds unpleasant... I see. Yes... No. Yes – oh, by the way, is Anathema at home, can you get her on the phone? Thank you." _pause_  
"Oh hello Anathema, my dear. Yes, I spoke to him..." he lowered his voice and continued. Crowley pricked his ears. "At first, he didn't want to. But he seems to have changed his mind... What? What do you mean?" He chuckled nervously. "Alright, maybe on Saturday. Mr. Shadwell and Madame Tracy won't make it? What a pity." Crowley rolled his eyes. Thank... _someone_.

When the angel had finished and came back, the demon got up from the sofa and wanted to leave. He unintentionally kicked the cup, which was still on the floor and still filled with tea. "Sorry angel," he mumbled.

"Oh," he said. "No problem, wait a minute". 

He disappeared and reappeared with some kitchen paper towel to mop up the puddle. Crowley watched him and frowned. What was that all about now? 

"You're aware that you could have just _made it go away_ , are you?"  


"Oh, because of this, that would be a little, er.. exaggerated, don't you think?"  


"If you say so". He shrugged his shoulders.  


"I'll pick you up on saturday around 2pm then? Bye."  


"Wait, I wanted to ask if you have..." - the doorbell rang - "... dinner plans." Aziraphale stood there with his shoulders hanging, wet paper towels in his hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

On his way over to Mayfair, Crowley thought about what just happened. That was weird. What was that all about? Am I overthinking this? When was the last time, Aziraphale performed an actual miracle? Not after the prevented Apocalypse, I think. Another point he wanted to address, he thought. But there were more important things to deal with right now. These included the feeling in his arm where he had been putting it over his shoulder. He wouldn't exactly call it a tingling sensation, but it was as if he could still feel some kind of… warmth. Then there was his smell. He didn't have to exert himself to pick it up when he stood next to him. Vanilla, sandalwood – a surprising earthy smell – and a touch of bergamot. But that was possibly the Earl Grey. The memory of this smell made him shudder, but not in a bad way. Two days till Saturday. He'd sort it out. Somehow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile they were standing on a plateau, the sun was already a little lower, but it still wasn't as cold as you would expect it to be on an autumn day. _Bugger it._ Out of a rash action he suddenly turned around, took a step towards him and raised his hand to the angels face. As his fingers brushed over his skin, several things happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets angry and Aziraphale is a little squeamish.

Two days passed and on Saturday at 2 pm the Bentley parked in front of the shop, right on time. The angel seemed to have expected him because he just locked the door as the demon drove up. He was carrying a bag from the wine shop down the street. 

“Hello Crowley,” he greeted him. Crowley frowned. That sounded a little aloof, didn’t it? 

“What’s that supposed to be for?” He pointed to the bag. 

“Oh, well I thought it might be a good idea to bring a present for the... er, hosts? I also bought some sweets for the children.” He looked into the paper bag and seemed very pleased with himself. 

His brightened up with every mile they covered and as they left Greenford behind, he smiled in anticipation and peered out the window. Crowley tried not to drive too fast to maintain a good mood and realized that he was not unhappy about the trip either. 

There was that specific point the demon wanted to address without giving Aziraphale the feeling he had been condemned in any way for his actions two days earlier. 

“Listen angel, I don’t wanna judge here-” _very good start_ , he thought. “The other day, when I spilled the tea. I've been thinking about it, and I've realized you've been avoiding miracles since _that day_ on the airfield, haven’t you?” 

Aziraphale didn't turn to him, but he shrugged. “I'm trying to hold back a little bit until the dust settles, I guess.” 

“Are you serious? For what? I mean… What do you think is gonna happen? The issue is dealt with, we're free. Come on, Aziraphale, let's ease up a bit, okay?” 

He answered in a lowered voice, still looking out of the window. “You know I've been reprimanded for performing _frivolous_ miracles several times. The last time wasn't too long ago. Just before you gave the child to the nuns. How should I know how they deal with such _violations_ now? Possibly I’ll be deprived of my rights if I receive another reprimand. And if this will happen, I do not know whether this is temporarily or forever.”

He turned around and a downhearted expression spread across his face.

“Unfortunately, I have not received a letter of resignation on how to act from now on, regarding my... my duties. And if my powers _were_ to be taken away from me, Gabriel would deliver the message. Personally, I'll take a bet on that. And I never want to have to face this… or any... angel again in my life if I can prevent it.”

"Come on, you're exaggerating." Crowley was upset with himself for having touched the subject because now he had a moody angel sitting next to him again. 

"Well, maybe you're right. But I don't want to take that chance”, he said as he turned back to the window.

_Well, that went really well, didn't it?_ He scolded himself. If they would continue like that, Crowley would drop him off in Tadfield and then just leave. 

Apparently, there seemed to be something extraordinarily interesting to observe outside because Aziraphale didn't bother to start a new conversation. As Crowley was driving, he glanced cautiously at the angel because he thought he might have fallen asleep. That would be very unusual, but that really was his whole behaviour right now. No, he just looked out of the window, pondering.

“Get a load of that, angel, “Crowley exclaimed when they passed some bushes and trees. Now they had a clear view of the broadening valley in front of them.

„Why, this is beautiful, isn't it?“ Once again his mood changed from _gloomy depressive_ to _I don't remember ever being upset. Ever._

It was indeed a beautiful view that offered itself to them and it seems that, even without an active Antichrist, the weather was still perfect for the season. The sun was out, the leaves on the trees were shining in the most beautiful red and yellow tones and it was pleasantly warm, although it was already late October. Relieved that the general mood improved again, he turned to the right into the road leading to the cottage.

The kids had also just arrived, their bicycles scattered in the grass. Four, no, six heads turned towards them, as the book girl and the nerd had just stepped out of the door at that moment to welcome the children. Aziraphale got out of the car as soon as Crowley had turned off the engine and walked briskly towards the group of humans.

"Hello everyone, what a pleasure to see you all of you again!" Aziraphale looked delighted as he started hugging each and every one of them. _Great, we're hugging the humans now, what a treat._

He got out of the car as casually as possible, also approaching the people and was relieved to find that at least two of the children whose names he couldn't remember felt a little uncomfortable under the embrace of Aziraphale. He, therefore, decided on a simple "Hey guys", nodding his head.. Surprisingly Adam came running directly to him and hugged him briefly. Crowley was puzzled but not unhappy that Adam was excited to see him again. Aziraphale also looked satisfied at the two as Anathema said they should go into the house together to have some tea. 

The cottage was, Crowley had to admit, snug and cozy. He watched Aziraphale walking through the rooms, closing his eyes every now and then, breathing in. Like an animal picking up a scent, the angel sensed the positive feelings that the two inhabitants were radiating everywhere. The demon gazed at him and the well-known feeling in his stomach grew stronger again. He could have watched him for hours doing his _angel thing_ but forced himself to look away and sat down in the sitting room with the kids. To get a conversation rolling, he turned to Adam, who was already holding the first piece of chocolate cake in his hands. “I just wanna thank you for the car. I care a lot about it, I've had it for... nearly a century. It's almost like a part of myself by now and… well, thanks.” _Not good at this,_ he thought.

“I'm very glad I could make you happy. If it's okay, could I, could we have look at it later? Maybe climb inside? You see, we're playing a game about smuggling and spies, and the car would be the perfect getaway car.” Adam beamed at him, already imaging the scenario. 

Crowley flinched a little but managed to stay casually. “Sure, why not.”

While the children engaged in a discussion about the coming adventure, Anathema prepared tea. As she was about to pour the water into the pot, she casually asked: “Are you okay, is everything alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you, dear. Why are you asking?” He wasn’t sure if this was the usual small talk or an actual question.

“Is everything okay, uh, between the both of you? You seem a little distracted… or cautious? Did you two have a fight? He,” she pointed her head towards the other room, “doesn't seem to be in a very good mood either. Although I can't judge that. Regarding the things you mentioned about him this could be normal behaviour.” She smiled at the angel. 

“Well, no, no fight, not exactly. I just, I don’t know.” What else should he say? She wouldn’t understand the overall picture anyway.

“Whatever is going on, here is my advise: talk to him.” The door to the room stood open and both of them gave Crowley a short look. He was sitting there, talking to the children and Newt, who had joined the group in the meantime. The demon turned his head in their direction with a questioning expression on his face. The two of them quickly looked at each other again. 

“Tea's ready,” Anathema said and winked at Aziraphale as he passed by.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the Them were immersed in their conversation, Adam turned to Crowley. He gave him his weird, not-from-this-world-smile. Not that impressing with chocolate smeared around is mouth. “You know… you two should talk to each other.”

“What? Who should talk?” He felt busted. He turned his head towards the kitchen and caught Aziraphale and Anathema looking at him. They immediately turned to each other. _This day is getting better and better,_ he figured as Anathema entered the room with the teapot in her hands and the angel walking behind her. 

The next hour wasn't too bad, though. Aziraphale and Crowley avoided talking to each other, but the children and Newt kept talking unremittingly. Aziraphale ate sandwiches and some cake and listened to the discussion. _Theoretically, Anathema is right,_ he told himself, but there's just too much at stake. After they all finished, the Them wanted to go outside. 

“Yes,” Newt said “Let’s go outside. We’ve got a bench and some deck chairs and the weather is fantastic for this time of year!” He was already heading outside to flip open the chairs. Crowley got up and stretched out. "To be honest, I sat on my butt for quite some time now. Think I’m going for a short stroll. Care to join me, angel?” Crowley glanced down. The one mentioned got up quickly. “Yes, yes of course, why not, jolly good idea. The weather is indeed excellent.” He tugged his waistcoat. When they were on their way out, Anathema made an encouraging thumbs-up gesture towards him. He sighed softly and followed Crowley. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walked through Hogback Wood quietly for some time. They thoughtfully walked next to each other, with Aziraphale making a remark here and there about the – admittedly – beautiful surroundings. Crowley answered him mostly with a nod and some kind of consenting noise. His thoughts were spinning. He has had it. He wanted to settle it. Now. Aziraphale would never in another thousand years take the first step, he was sure by now. 

Meanwhile they were standing on a plateau, the sun was already a little lower, but it still wasn't as cold as you would expect it to be on an autumn day. _Bugger it._ Out of a rash action he suddenly turned around, took a step towards him and raised his hand to the angels face. As his fingers brushed over his skin, several things happened: Aziraphale froze, stared at him with his eyes wide open and took two steps backwards. Unfortunately, he tripped over a root and landed on the leaf-covered ground. He didn’t bother to get up and continued to stare at him, his mouth opened slightly. 

“What the actual fuck, Aziraphale?!” Crowley exclaimed. 

“Why, w-what were, what were you going to do?” He was still sitting on the ground.

“Dunno. Just… I just wanted to… I don’t know! It’s just, I can’t ignore the unspoken _things_ between us anymore. I...” He threw his hands up in the air.

“Unspoken _things_?” Aziraphale laughed nervously. 

The demon sat down on his heels to be at eye level with him, his voice was getting an infuriated low tone. 

“Azzziraphale… Don’t you dare sssay that everything isss fine between you and me. That you and the girl don't talk about it. Usss.” _Breathe, count to-oh fuck it!_ “I thought after all what happened, we could both... I don't know...“ He got up again and started walking back and forth on the plateau. “No, no, that won’t do it. If you’re not going to talk about it, I will, I’m fed up. I’m talking about us. Where do we go from here? I just wanted to touch you. I wanted it for some time now. I'd even like to kiss you, if you would allow it. This isn’t some regular friendship anymore, not for me. I’ve fallen for you, angel.” Visibly relieved, he stopped and wiped his face with his hand. _I’ve done it. Maybe I screwed everything up, but at least I tried._

“I, er… I,” Aziraphale’s head was empty. He wanted to say something. Anything. “I'm sorry if I hurt you with my behaviour. I'm still trying to come to terms with how everything has changed for me – and for you, of course. Without our... Superiors.” His nose reddened. “On the one hand, I try not to draw attention to myself. The miracles, you know… On the other hand, I feel cut off from the Heavenly Host. And even though they have always looked down on me, this feeling is not as liberating as I thought it would be. Now, I’m… all by myself.”

“ **AlL bY mYSeLf…** Oh cut the crap, Bridget Jones!” Crowley yelled at him and started walking around again, gesturing wildly. “You aren’t all by yourself, you never were. I was there! I was always there. And if you would let me, I’ll be there for you until the end of times! Stop being afraid you idiot!”

Aziraphale sniffled. 

“Are you **crying** now?! Great, what a **delightful** trip,” he laughed. “I'm making a fool of myself here and you're crying?!”

“Now, please listen, Crowley,” he said softly, taking a deep breath and subtly wiping his eyes. “I am grateful that you have been so honest with me. Unfortunately, I am not so brave. Yes, I feel lost on the one hand and yes, you are and always have been there for me. I appreciate that. Very much so. That's the point. If it doesn't work between us, how can I go on? You are _the_ constant in my life and without you, I...” _Oh please, not this again. Crying like some teenager, so immature._ His eyes began to fill with tears. He hated that there was nothing he could do about it. he wanted to remain objective and explain his feelings and fears. But he couldn’t continue. 

As he sat there on the ground, tears running down his rosy cheeks, Crowley got a guilty conscience. He was still upset, but he pulled himself together. He kneeled down to him and spoke in a calm voice. 

"Sorry, angel. I didn't want to yell at you. Please, go on… what do you want to tell me?”

Another deep breath. “I would like to, well... touch you too, you know. But I’m afraid. You see, as you have developed over the years and gained experience of all kinds, I have always remained myself. I don't know if I can meet your expectations. And I'm afraid I'll lose our friendship if you're dissatisfied because of this… us being more than friends… won’t work out. I'm afraid to put all this at risk. I don't want to lose you.”

“Okay. Okay, I see. Let's keep being honest with each other. You're worried that you won't be able to live up to my expectations of a relationship. What kind of high standards do you think I have? I want to be with you, I want to kiss you. So so much, actually. I want us to do stuff together as a couple. Like Anathema and Newt, you know. Little things that get special because we do them together. Dining, getting drunk, the usual stuff. I'd like to lie in bed next to you and fall asleep. Even if you read all night long. I want to wake up with you in the morning. Cuddle with you. Make love to you.” He praised himself for not using the kind of language Aziraphale wouldn't appreciate. “I, er… I may be experienced in certain fields but building a relationship as a couple is not one of them. This is new to me too, angel. And I promise you, nothing bad will happen. I won’t rush anything, I wouldn't do anything you didn't want me to. We'll take our time, okay angel? No pressure.” _That may be laid on thick, who cares… Come on, we’re almost there. Please._

He had stopped crying and was trying to think. The metaphorical cat was out of the bag. He should be thankful that Crowley had the guts address the subject. And the things he said made the butterflies in his stomach go crazy. He felt that he was blushing but he didn’t care. “That sounds like a good idea.” He smiled sheepishly at the demon. 

The relief that spread through Crowley was hard to put into words. He would have wished to fall on his knees to yell "Fuck, yes!". But he kept it together and just smiled back genuinely. "Let me help you up,” he said and offered his hand. Aziraphale reached for it and managed to get up. They just stood there looking at each other. The angel’s eyes scanned the demons face to get a clue to how he had to act. Eyes, the colour of the sea on a cloudy day. Crowley thought about the Highlands. 

"Is it all right with you if I hug you?" he asked cautiously. Aziraphale nodded. "Of course, dear” He let go of his hand, with which he had just helped him on his feet, and embraced him. Overrun with emotion, he returned the hug. He let his hands rest on Crowley's lower back his head leaned against his shoulder. 

“You smell like petrichor, did you know that?" he heard a muffled voice against is chest. Then the angel looked him in the eyes (when did he lose his glasses?). “And a hint of bonfire,” he smiled.

“So you're saying I smell like rain and fire, angel?,” Crowley smirked, kissed is forehead gently and nuzzled his hair. Sandalwood. 

He felt Aziraphale's body tense up and decided it was enough for this day.

"Come, let's go back to the cottage. We're here to visit your... our friends and are hanging around in the woods, that's rather impolite.”

The angel tucked his hand in the crook of Crowley's arm and they headed back. While they were walking, the demon started talking “With all your worries, I'm surprised you didn't name one in particular. I would have sworn that you were afraid to… Fall.”

He shook his head determinedly. “No, I don't have that fear. Look, the other angels don’t decide that, but She alone. And even if the others would love to see me fall, I don't think _this_ ” he gestured vaguely “is a reason for Her to let me Fall. She is all about love after all.”

He looked at Aziraphale in disbelief, which fortunately he didn't notice. The demon was sure he was grinning like a total moron. He didn’t say "I love you". He didn’t expect that either. But he had used the term Love to describe what was happening between them. That was far more than he had ever hoped when he got into his car that day.

“Crowley? Who is Bridget Jones?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just starting to read the book. Presumably the book Aziraphale wouldn't react that way, even for the TV-show version it's a bit exaggerated. My head is doing these things. Sorry.
> 
> The next update will probably take place next weekend. A lot of work to do this week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right next to the bookshop there was a small café. The flat above it had been empty for a few weeks because it had to be renovated before new tenants could move in. If the two of them weren't so preoccupied with themselves, they would have noticed a shadow in the middle window that was lurking there quite unprofessionally.

They could already see the cottage from some distance because Newton had managed to spark off a small bonfire (without burning the whole house down). It was already getting dark and the humans gathered around the fire. Crowley looked at Aziraphale to check whether he was okay with both of them entering the garden like this. The hand of one in the crook of the other's arm. The angel returned the gaze and indicated a nod and a smile. 

"It's all right, dear. It really is." _After all, they are our friends, a protected environment,_ he figured. The best conditions for carefully approaching the new situation. 

While the children didn't seem to notice anything, both Anathema and Newt understood the situation immediately. They looked at them, their gaze briefly caught on the angel’s hand for a few seconds, then they looked at each other. "You owe me 5 pounds," Anathema said casually. 

Aziraphale blushed but nobody noticed in the firelight. 

"We thought you'd walked home and left the car for the kids," she grinned. “Come on, sit down. I was just about to get some wine.” 

Brian waved a few sticks around. "We want to roast marshmallows, do you want to join?" He paused. "If you… people eat marshmallows at all?" 

"Why wouldn't they?" Pepper asked gruffly and rolled her eyes. "Mr. Aziraphale ate two sandwiches and a piece of cake. Of course, they want marshmallows." 

Aziraphale smiled warmly and sat next to Brian. "Yes, I would love to," he said. 

Crowley sat between the angel and Adam. The former Antichrist turned to him and said, "You could clear things up, couldn’t you." It was a statement, not a question and Adam nodded contentedly. Even though he didn't know why he should discuss relationship issues with a child, he felt he had to say something about it. At least it wasn't an ordinary child, he thought. 

"It turned out that we both had the same opinions on certain points and that's why we were able to agree upon _something_ ," he said vaguely. He found the paraphrasing to be quite clever. 

"Oh, is that so," Anathema went after it. "I'm glad to hear that." She handed him two glasses of the wine that Aziraphale had brought with him. He accepted it gratefully and turned to Aziraphale. "Some wine?" he asked. The angel turned to him "Yes, thank you, dear". He had marshmallow remains sticking to his lower lip, and Crowley thought of various ways to clean it up. He decided to grab a white linen napkin out of thin air and handed it to him. 

"You, uh, have something on your..." he gesticulated vaguely in the direction of his mouth. 

"Oh, thank you so much," Aziraphale replied and reached for napkin and wine. 

"That was pretty rad, better than a magic trick," noticed Brian, who by the way looked way worse than Aziraphale as far as the marshmallows were concerned. 

"What else could you conjure?" Wensleydale was already starting to imagine wildest things. 

Aziraphale intervened. "I think we shouldn't carry it too far. These things aren't usually meant to be fun." 

"Spoilsport," Crowley whispered into his ear. He had come closer, their shoulders were touching. The angel got nervous again. _What is expected of someone in a situation like this?_ Crowley now leaned against him lightly, his hand resting on the blanket that Anathema had spread out in addition to the chairs. He hesitated for a moment and placed his hand on Crowley’s. 

"You know my concerns, my dear," he whispered back. "If we are asked to let it snow or have elephants appear, it will definitely draw attention. Regardless if above or below. Thanks for the napkin anyway." 

Crowley didn't answer but took Aziraphale’s hand in his. _It feels so good,_ he thought, as he started caressing the back of the other's hand with his thumb. 

He could see that Aziraphale trembled slightly under the touch, but since he didn't take away his hand and continued smiling, he didn't stop running his thumb over his hand. The children were already discussing some other issue and accepted Azirapahle’s refuse to miracle something up. 

When they finally had to say goodbye, it was already late (they would certainly get in trouble) and it had cooled noticeably. Adam put his arms around their shoulders and said, "Was a real blast today, we'll definitely come and visit you in London, yes?" "All right," Crowley agreed. 

They, for a lack of wine, switched to American whiskey after the children had left. To his surprise, Crowley enjoyed the evening with the mortals. Anathema mentioned that she was interested in buying Jasmine cottage but the owner was hesitant to sell it to an American woman who, according to R. P. Tyler, probably consumed cannabis. She added that Madam Tracy and Shadwell wanted to settle in the countryside as well and that they wanted to have a look at some estates near Brighton. 

"Really lovely, the two of them. A cottage in the country. Hmm. How charming." Aziraphale wasn't quite sober anymore, which wasn't surprising considering the amount of alcohol he'd had. He leaned wearily against Crowley, the head was now resting on his shoulder. He felt fantastic. He had his fears, which were still distressing him in the afternoon, successfully drowned in alcohol and his human body released dopamine as if there were no tomorrow. _It's supposed to be just like this,_ he suspected as he looked at the diminishing fire dreamily. 

Crowley had no objection to serve as a cushion but was not sure whether the angel would have done the same in a sober state. He pushed the thought aside and enjoyed the unexceptional situation, which felt pretty exceptional after all. He put his arm around him and felt how the angel immediately snuggled closer to him. _I think this day is ranking high on the list of the best days of the last 6000 years._

Newton was the first to be completely wasted. Anathema felt a responsibility to bring him into the house and since the fire was nearly dead anyway, they said their goodbyes. Crowley sobered up while getting back on his feet to help Aziraphale get on his. 

As they all got up, some with more dignity, others with less, Anathema said “It was a pleasure that you came to visit today. Seriously. We should repeat that. And if it's okay with you, we'd really like to come to London one day. Newton has things left to do there anyway.” 

“’F’course, that would be so nice, wouldn’it,” Aziraphale mumbled. Somehow he and Newt managed to hug each other and say their farewells without tumbling over. Aziraphale turned to Anathema who hugged him, too. "We'll talk on the phone," she whispered. “We will,” he replied with flushed cheeks as he beamed at her. By the time Crowley had finally tucked him into the car, it was around midnight and they still had a good hour's drive ahead of them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This was nice. T'was a really nice day, wasn'it? Love, uhmm, lovely. Children were so polite. And anextraordin'ry young woman. Nice... chap. And you," he slurred, pointing at Crowley. "You're lovely too, y'know. An admi... admirable demon. Hah. Missster Crowley, you're a... Oh look, streetlights. Hmmm. Stars are better, tho'. S'always nice to watch the stars isn'it?" He then began to breathe against the car windows and started to draw something on the fogged glass with his index finger. "T’was a really nice day," he started all over. 

"Angel," Crowley carefully interrupted him, chuckling. "Do both of us a favour and sober up already." 

"YOU! You're the spoilsport, Anthony J. Crowley!" Aziraphale pouted. He suppressed a groan, indicating he did, as the demon just told him, sober up. He ran his hands over his face and sighed. Then he turned to look at Crowley. "But it truly was a beautiful day." The demon swallowed. "It was." He took a hand off the steering wheel to take the angels right hand. He brought Aziraphale’s fingers to his mouth and brushed his lips against the knuckles, which led his companion to drew a sharp breath. Aziraphale placed Crowley’s hand, which had been helping him in precarious situations for thousands of years, onto his lap and clasped it with his own. _Lend a hand when needed. I need this. A sign that this is all very real._

They drove on for a while in silence, but under a relaxed atmosphere, but as they reached the outskirts of London, Aziraphale got tense. What would happen tonight, what is the correct behaviour? Should he invite him in, as usual, or would that mean something completely different in this new context? He brooded over this dilemma while Crowley, meanwhile both hands at the steering wheel again, hummed along with songs on the radio. Before he knew it, they'd arrived at the bookshop. 

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment. "Do you want to... come in? For a drink?" 

"I think I'd better go home... Today." He smirked at him crookedly. "I'll walk you to the door like the gentleman I am and then I'll drive home and go straight to bed. It was an intense day after all". 

“Yes, you are probably right,” he nodded in agreement. 

Crowley got out of the car, opened the passenger door and chivalrously offered his hand. They walked across the still busy street and stood opposite each other at the door. Aziraphale had to raise his head a bit to look at his face. Crowley knew it was a corny comparison, but it felt as if he could drown in those eyes, deep as the sea. Feeling obliged to somehow guide the situation, Crowley reached out with his hand to gently caress the angels face. Running his fingers down his cheek and along his jaw. Aziraphale thereupon closed his eyes and sighed slightly as he leaned into the touch. A warm feeling spread across the demons chest and his whole body as he looked at the celestial being, which was at the same time so indescribably familiar and yet unknown to him. "Angel," he whispered as his hand brushed over Aziraphale’s nape and he drew closer. He wrapped the other arm around his waist and hugged him tightly. He considered kissing him on the spot until the angel no longer knew his own name. At the same time, he didn’t want to overwhelm him. It had taken so many years. A few days more or less didn't matter. Bending his head, he kissed his forehead and the stubborn blond curls. 

"I hope you have a pleasant night angel. Maybe get some rest and don't worry so much. It's all good. Even better than that. I'll call you.” 

“I'll do my best. Goodnight and sleep well, Crowley.” 

Right next to the bookshop there was a small café. The flat above it had been empty for a few weeks because it had to be renovated before new tenants could move in. If the two of them weren't so preoccupied with themselves, they would have noticed a shadow in the middle window that was lurking there quite unprofessionally. 

After the Bentley was out of sight, Aziraphale turned around and entered the store. He leaned against the door with his eyes closed, still out of breath from the unaccustomed farewell Crowley’s. _Pull yourself together. It's Crowley. It’s just... Crowley._ His unique smell mixed with his cologne still stuck in his nose. In order to return to a known routine, he began to prepare himself a tea. Since the book he was reading at the time could not be found anywhere, he chose a volume of 19. century poetry and sat down in his armchair, holding his cup of tea. The third time he had to read a page because he no longer knew what he had just read, he closed the book and placed it next to the meanwhile cooled tea. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and reviewed the day. Crowley’s hand trying to touch his face. The arm he offered him. The evening at the fire, both leaning against each other. Lips and hands… Once again he felt a warm, sparkling sensation spreading from his chest washing all over his body. Hormones, he thought, as he simply sat there, eyes closed, observing the processes of his corporation. Apparently, these hormones had certain plans. He noticed how the excitement that flowed through him gathered in his lap. He blinked. "Oh my. This is, ah, a completely... normal physical reaction," he tried to calm himself down. As someone who walked on earth for so many years, he wasn't unaware of the concept of an erection, yet he stared at his lap in surprise, as if there was a particularly rare book lying there.

A beep that sounded vaguely familiar startled him. Where did that come from? In the drawer of his desk, he found the origin of the sound. A mobile phone. It had been there for a while since most of the phone calls he made were landline calls. He took the object in his hand. Apparently, he had received a text message. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A good mile away bee-line Crowley slouched on his sofa. Sleep was still out of the question, and even though as a demon he had no shame whatsoever, he refused to exhaust himself in the way he otherwise preferred in such cases. It would not be the first time that he had whacked off to the thoughts of kind looking eyes, ruffled blonde hair and an innocent smile. This time it was different. In the past, he had not expected there to be a chance that these imaginations would even come close to becoming reality. Aziraphale, pressed to one of the shelves of his bookshop, barely able to suppress a lustful moan. Or the angel on his black silk sheets, naked and pure. He knew he had made an effort. They were in Rome at the same time and the thermae were a revelation. And since Aziraphale was always willing to indulge in the pleasures of the humans, he did not reject the proposal to go there together. Crowley also could see that he had maintained his effort even though his pants had a wide cut. He searched for his smartphone.

`- Angel. Are you awake? -`

It took Aziraphale a few minutes to answer.

`- Of course I am. Is everything all right? Why are you sending a message? You could have called me. -`

`- It could have been that you were busy. Or maybe you could have slept... -`

`- Do you know when I slept the last time? -`

`- Yeah all right. I'm sorry. Wait a minute. -`

The mobile rang. 

“Hello?” 

"It's me. Surprising, isn't it?" Crowley sneered. 

“Uh, yes. Well no, not really.” 

“Yeah, okay. Thought I'll come by tomorrow at noon, you're okay with that? Lunch?" Did that sound impatient? He didn't want to snap at him. Fortunately, he felt the other one' s smile as he spoke. 

"Oh, yes, of course. With pleasure. I'll be ready." 

"Good. Uh, well then. Goodnight." 

"Goodnight Crowley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know. You go too slow for me, Crowley.
> 
> I hope some of you are in the mood to witness the exchange of first intimacies tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My angel. You have been walking this planet for 6000 years, loving Her creation sincerely and with all your heart.” _kiss_ “You should love yourself as well, because once you also were Her idea. One of the best, I think.” _kiss_ “And that's why you're so, just like that, perfect. That Gabriel, this son of a bitch doesn't acknowledge this, doesn't surprise me. In love only with himself, always greedy to be the center of attention. All eager to proclaim the birth of Jesus to Mary, but who was there when the poor guy was crucified? You, Principality Aziraphale, Guardian Of The Eastern Gate. You marvellous being."

When Aziraphale took his seat in the Bentley the next day, he noticed the basket on the back seat. A folded blanket was lying next to it.

"Is this a picnic basket?" he asked in surprise. 

"Yep. And good morning to you too, angel." He leaned to the passenger side, kissed his cheek and started the engine. 

"So, what are the plans for today?" Aziraphale asked him expectantly. 

"I figured I owe you a picnic. The weather forecast said it shouldn't rain today and I thought we could take advantage of it? Temperature is also reasonable... The blanket is waterproof if the grass should be damp and -" 

"Wonderful idea, my dear." He looked at him, honestly pleased. 

They drove a bit further out and found a nice and rather dry place at the Heath. After he had spread out the blanket, Crowley sat down cross-legged on it, Aziraphale did the same. 

"Champagne?" 

"Absolutely, thank you. So, er, did you sleep well?" 

"Nope. Couldn't get to sleep. Your luck, so I came up with this idea." He handed him the glass. "Cheers. _To us?_ I think that's justified." 

"To us." Their eyes met at the clink and the angel happily noticed that the demon had taken off his glasses. Aziraphale had a quick look over his shoulder. There weren't many people in this corner of the park, just a guy flipping through his smartphone sitting on a nearby bench. Nobody would notice the amber snake eyes of his company. 

Meanwhile, Crowle had turned to the basket and was fishing out a plate which, after removing the cling film, revealed pieces of melon wrapped in Serrano ham. 

"This looks delicious, where were you able to get that this morning?" 

"That, so, uh. From the farmer's market." 

His eyes widened. "You were at a farmer's market?! Unusual." 

"Yeah, even more unusual that I prepared the stuff at home." 

"You didn't buy it that way? Oh, Crowley, this is really..." 

"I know this whole miracle-thing is bothering you right now. That's why I bought all of this the human way," he pointed to the basket, "paid for it and prepared it at home. 

After Crowley had put the rest of the food on the blanket, including cheese, grapes, and bread, they ate in silence for a while and enjoyed the sun, which tried hard to warm up the last weekend of October. After the meal and the first bottle of champagne, Aziraphale let himself go and laid down on his back. He stretched himself, closed his eyes and hummed contentedly. “That was excellent, dear. The weather in Tadfield was of course better, but for London, it's not bad today either. Oh, Tadfield... I think Anathema wanted to call today." 

Crowley was still sitting upright looking down at him."Then she will try again later. You're not forced to wait the whole day for her call, she'll hear all yesterday's details early enough, wouldn't she?" 

He blinked and tried, despite the sun blinded him, to cast a questioning glance at Crowley. "Are you upset about something? What seems to be the problem?” 

"Oh, I don't know. I just don't think that's any of their business. Gossip, misunderstandings... Do you remember this scene that we once witnessed in this place? When was that again? It must have been the 80s..." 

"Ah yes! I remember." He closed his eyes again and forgot that the demon was actually a little angry. "You are referring to these three friends, who obviously shared each other's secrets with one another, but er, from who no one should know. Uh, I didn’t get that at all… Then they started insulting each other," he gesticulated with his hands and giggled, "one of the women spilled the rest of her drink on the other one. Humans, unbelievable. And you had the craziest hairstyles in those days." He crossed his arms behind his head and grinned at the thought of Crowley always brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

He felt the sun no longer shining in his face. Probably it would rain soon. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Crowley leaned over him. He looked at Aziraphale silently with those eyes, that always seemed to see a little more, whether in the dark or in himself. They studied each other's faces as if they hadn't memorized every tiny detail in the last 6000 years. 

Actually, he just wanted to look at the angel. That he had cast a shadow on him was not intentional. When his companion opened his eyes, it was, of course, impossible to retreat. So they kept looking at each other. _Is this the right time or what?_ He hesitated. Something tugged lightly at his jacket. The hands of the angel wandered to his lapel and pulled gently. 

Surprised by the initiative, he came closer. He had to support himself in the grass with his left hand, the right one cupped Aziraphale's face. He bent down until their lips met. For just a few seconds the world stood still. Then Crowley deepened the kiss by letting his forked tongue slip across Aziraphale’s lower lip. With a soft sigh, his lips parted a bit and let their tongues touch. They explored one another and Crowley sensed Aziraphale was both, nervous and aroused. The first kiss. At least the first of this kind. He felt so good underneath him. Soft lips, tender hands stroking his neck and running through his hair. He tasted so good, indescribably exotic and yet very much just like Aziraphale. His hand held his jaw, he tilted the angels head and let his tongue plunge forward, claiming the angel's mouth. When he began to moan audibly, Crowley drew back and broke the kiss. 

He let himself fall on the blanket next to him and watched him expectantly and a little out of breath. At first, the fair-haired angel was panting heavily, his lips red and wet. He raised his hand to protect his eyes and turned his head towards him. As a large smile spread across his face, Crowley felt relief and deep affection. 

“That was, was… good, I suppose? Was it good?” 

“Oh hush angel. It was so much better than good. You are outstanding. C’mon,” he let him snuggle up to him. 

They kissed again, while Crowley let his hand slide over his hip and started tugging at his shirt until he had exposed a narrow strip of skin. The moment he let his fingers slip under Aziraphale’s shirt, the angel jumped. 

“No, Crowley, please don’t. Not in a park.” 

The demon grinned diabolically. “Well then. Back to my place, then?” 

Aziraphale simply looked at him but didn't answer right away. Crowley withdrew his hand under the shirt and glanced at him earnestly. 

“I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to. I promise. We can just have a drink. Or maybe I can tempt you into watching a movie? Bridget Jones is available on Netflix I recall.” The punch on his upper arm did not hurt but came unexpectedly. 

“You wily old serpent! Yes, fine. Let’s go to your place. I'm afraid it's going to start raining soon anyway.” 

While the sky was becoming more and more clouded, they both went back to the car. The guy on the park bench was also gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rainstorm surprised them halfway from the car to the front door. Someone had forgotten to make sure that a parking space was miraculously free. So they ran, Crowley pulled Aziraphale behind him because the angel thought a sprint was not dignified to do. As they ran around the corner of the apartment building, they almost clashed with the janitor working on the fire escape. "Hello Mr. Crowley, wonderful weather, isn't it?"

"Yes, always a revelation, Mr. Gibson. Don't stay out here too long. Come on, get in there." He shoved Aziraphale through the open door. As they waited for the lift, two small puddles formed beneath them. 

"What do you think," whispered Crowley in a coarse voice in the Aziraphale's ear, "a quick hot shower? I am freezing to death. No good weather for serpents." 

"It'll take forever for the clothes to dry," Aziraphale mumbled worriedly instead of answering. 

"We have all the time in the world. Do you have anything else planned for today? The elevator came. 

Arriving at the apartment, the demon immediately pushed him through the hallway straight into the bathroom. He pulled him close, their wet clothes stuck unpleasantly to their bodies. 

"Of course, I could just go the short way to get us dry," he brought his thumb and middle finger together to initiate a snap. "But it's not as much fun, I promise.” The angel’s gaze wandered from the shower to Crowley and back again. He took a deep breath. 

"I, er, yes. Let's..." Aziraphale nodded his head at the shower. With swift fingers, Crowley started to work on the waistcoat and unbuttoned it. He slipped it, together with the coat over Aziraphale’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He then knelt down and took off the shoes and socks. When he got up he took his time and drove his hands over the sides of his thighs. He paused briefly at the hem of the trousers to open the button and then went to work on the shirt. “So many buttons, so many layers,” he muttered to himself. When he finally stood there naked, the demon tried not to stare, instead, he snapped his fingers to get rid of his own clothes. 

“I'm fucking freezing, get in the shower!” 

As they faced each other in the wide, walk-in shower, Crowley pushed him against the wall. With one hand he touched his neck, with the other he reached behind him and turned on the water. 

"Everything fine so far?" He drove his hand through the blonde hair. Aziraphale avoided looking at him. "You're not self-conscious, are you?" 

"Until now I haven't wasted many thoughts on it, but Gabriel has drawn my attention to the fact that I... And then ah, in relation to you," he put his hand on the chest of the demon and let it slide over the flat stomach to the hip. Crowley closed his eyes at this cautious touch and sighed but then shook his head vigorously, cupping the angels face with his hands and looking deep into the eyes. 

"My angel. You have been walking this planet for 6000 years, loving Her creation sincerely and with all your heart.” _kiss_ “You should love yourself as well, because once you also were Her idea. One of the best, so I think.” _kiss_ “And that's why you're so, just like that, perfect. That Gabriel, this son of a bitch doesn't acknowledge this, doesn't surprise me. In love only with himself, always greedy to be the center of attention. All eager to proclaim the birth of Jesus to Mary, but who was there when the poor guy was crucified? You, Principality Aziraphale, Guardian Of The Eastern Gate. You marvellous being." _kiss_

Aziraphale breathed heavily. "You were there too." 

"As I said before. I was always there." 

“Oh Crowley.” The next kiss was initiated by Aziraphale, who wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck and held on to him as he tried to put all of his heart, all of his warmth, all of his affection into the kiss. 

After a moment or maybe an eternity, Crowley broke the kiss. “Uhm. Wow?” He laughed softly as he leaned towards him, kissing his neck. When he sucked on a patch of skin, using the tiniest bit of teeth, the angel couldn't suppress a moan. Trying to reproduce that sound again, his lips wandered lower, nibbling and sucking here and there. At some point, he was kneeling in front of him. He looked up at him as he raised his hand to touch Aziraphale’s hard cock. He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. The demon stroked him a few times before licking along his shaft. The following moan was close to being pornographic and Crowley smirked as he took him in his mouth. 

“Oooh. Goodness!” Aziraphale shouted. He looked down at wet auburn hair and a slender back, on which scales occasionally appeared. Crowley looked up and winked, as he let the forked tongue flicker against his tip. He shivered. “Please Crowley… dear... stop. I’m going to,...” he pants. So Crowley slowly got up again and turned the shower off. “Very well angel. Let me take you to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be very grateful if you'd leave a kudo or a comment.  
> See you soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darkness of the thunderstorm passed directly into the evening twilight. Weighing up the pros and cons, the two remained to lie in bed, spooning, with their legs intertwined, and assuring each other of their affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _microphone static_  
>  Today's episode is brought to you by: my mobile.  
>   
> Sorry in advance for any spelling/syntax/autocorrect errors, it was tricky to do it this way.  
> Hope you like it nonetheless.

The idea that both would find their way into the bedroom together, wrapped in only one large towel, was romantic in theory. But after they nearly got stuck in the bathroom door, Crowley left the towel to Aziraphale. "Follow me," he pointed his finger to a door and sauntered lasciviously ahead. He did as he was told, his eyes on Crowley's buttocks. He swallowed before entering the bedroom. The red-headed demon sat down on the edge of his bed and watched him while tilting his head.

"I don't want to keep repeating myself, but for the record... am I going too fast for you?" There was no sarcasm in his words as he looked at him sincerely. With two quick steps, Aziraphale was with him, dropping onto his knees in front of him and wrapping his arms around the demon’s waist. A shudder went through the angel's body and Crowley let his fingers run soothingly through damp white-blonde hair. 

“Angel?” He asked concerned. 

A muffled voice came from the side of his body. 

“Thank you for waiting for me ever so patiently. Thank you for letting me get... here at my own pace. And thank you for pushing just a teensy bit in the end.”  
He loosened his grip and looked up. 

“I'm afraid you would have driven me crazy otherwise, that's why I had to do something,” Crowley teased gently. “I've never seen anyone on this planet as oblivious as you.” 

The motion had caught him by surprise, so he dropped back without resistance. Aziraphale straddled him and this time it was he who bent over the demon and kissed him. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss and Crowley joined in with delight. His snake tongue slipped beneath the soft underside of the human tongue, making Aziraphale moan. 

“You are into kissing aren't you?” 

“Hmmhm...” Aziraphale let his lips wander. Sometimes he would stop to pay more attention to a certain spot, licking and using his teeth a tiny little bit. He was still very careful but when he heard the demon groan, he became more courageous, bit and sucked slightly harder. _That’ll definitely leave some marks,_ Crowley thought to himself and he didn't mind at all. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the touch of hands and lips. After several minutes of snogging like teenagers, he couldn't help but notice that the angel was hard again. 

With a swift movement, he shoved him to the other side of the bed and spooned him, his member pressed between plump butt cheeks. 

He reached around to place a hand on his chest while nibbling on Aziraphale’s nape. 

"Is something on your mind, my dear? Don’t you want to...?" 

"No need to rush, angel." 

Said angel turned his head as far as possible and a voice close to his ears whispered "I want you to. I need you to…" His teeth caught the earlobe and Crowley inhaled deeply. 

"Aziraphale, only two days ago you, sorry for the reminder, cried at the thought of being with me." 

He turned Aziraphale by his shoulders to face him, studying him. His eyes looked so dark due to his dilated pupils. Teeth scraped across his neck. 

“Hush now. I need you. Please” 

This time he was the one who was surprised by the fast movement of his partner. Demon hands flipped him onto his back, his mouth added fresh marks to his skin and Aziraphale couldn't prevent himself from making an encouraging sound. Instantly, he covered his mouth with his hand. 

“Oh don’t you dare!” Crowley pushed the hand away. He then turned towards the nightstand’s drawer and snatched out a bottle of lube. 

“If you're sssure, I'll be the lassst one to ssstop.” He shoved a pillow under Aziraphale so he could get better access to his target. He continued in a soft voice, his hand stroking the angel's pale thigh. “Very important: relax. And talk to me, tell me when you want me to stop.” He brought himself into position between his legs, spreading them apart carefully. 

“I trust you, dear.” 

A loving smile spreads across Crowley's face and he squeezed a good amount of lube onto his fingers, bringing them towards the entrance. Without turning his gaze away from his face, Crowley starts to massage the sensitive area. Aziraphale threw his head back into the pillows and gasped. Running a finger over his perineum he whispered reassuring words. “You are doing good, angel, just relax.” 

Without knowing how to deal with the sensations pouring into him, he tried not to show that his courage was about to leave him. _What kind of situation did I put myself in, I'm not even---_ “Aah!” He forgot what he was just thinking as Crowley’s finger slid into him because a new thought formed in his mind. “Ooh Crowley, please..” he whimpered. 

“Be patient, please angel. I won’t hurt you by rushing this.” His free hand rubbed soothingly over his thighs and hips in search of the other's hand. His fingers laced through Aziraphale’s while he pushed forward and the angel started breathing raggedly. Crowley started to move the finger inside of him, flexing and searching. He pulled it out to add a second finger before pushing in again. For a second he raised his head to look at Aziraphale because he became quieter, but so far everything seemed to be fine. He laid there with closed eyes, head resting on the pillows, between deep breaths he mumbled something inaudibly. Crowley forced himself to turn his gaze away from this blissful, blushed face because he had another task to accomplish, which would provide an even better sight in the end, if he would do everything properly. Starting to bend the fingers again, he found what he was looking for and as a result, the angel gasped again, lifting his head to look at Crowley wide-eyed. 

“Prostate,” he explained. “This should feel good. Does it?” 

“Mh hm” Aziraphale managed to answer. 

“Well then, just lie back down, angel.” 

He let himself fall back again. The feeling that warmly spread from his lower body could hardly be put into words. A tickling feeling, just a bit hot in a certain way, that seemed to build up steadily. As Crowley added a third finger, he started to moan again and subconsciously his hand reached for his cock. 

“Tsk tsk, just a little more patience!” 

“Crowley please! I can’t… just, please.” 

“Yes, angel? What’s the matter?” He teased. 

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. “Please make love to me.” 

Crowley smiled and straightened himself up after gently removing his fingers. As a precaution, he spread some more lube on his already leaking cock and brought himself in position. Knowing how insecure Aziraphale felt, he wanted to act casual, but his own excitement had now reached a worrying level. _Pull yourself together, It’s fucking important to not screw this up._ He pulled the angel a little closer and shifted his legs to a better angle. Their eyes met and Crowley started to push slowly. By the movement of his jaw, he could tell that Aziraphale was clenching his teeth. 

“Keep going,” he told Crowley, who hesitated. “Okay, okay, angel,” he continued to push while bending to kiss the angelic chest, wandering up to the neck. After he had fully entered him, they both didn’t move for a brief second to perceive every impression and sensation. Aziraphale’s lips found Crowley's again and he started to move slowly. Aziraphale let his head fall back and he moaned softly as he closed his eyes. As soon as they found a rhythm he reached for the angel’s erection, stroking it at the same pace. They could no longer express coherent thoughts but what they felt was mostly the same. 

|| feels so fucking good || please don't ever leave me || you are mine || how did I survive without your touch || I'll never let you go || I need you closer || I'll never get enough of this || I'm yours || please || need || mine ||want || faster || 

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s orgasm building up probably sooner than he himself. His rhythm went out of sync and his hands shook lightly. "Crowley?" he asked frowning, beads of sweat on his forehead. 

"You're doing amazing angel, everything is just fine. Let go." He shifted to gain better access to that one spot and watched his angel fall apart. 

“Oh, my G...” He arched his back and gritted his teeth as he held on to the sheets. Crowley had to hold him by his hips to steady them. He felt him clenching around his shaft and he came too, shouting the angel's name. 

Crowley dropped on Aziraphale's chest after he climaxed and they just laid there, not giving a fuck about the sticky mess between them, catching their breath an enjoying the moment. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The darkness of the thunderstorm passed directly into the evening twilight. Weighing up the pros and cons, the two remained to lie in bed, spooning, with their legs intertwined, and assuring each other of their affection. 

Crowley supported himself on his elbow and rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Clasping his fingers with the angel’s, he had to fight against falling asleep. Aziraphale stared into the darkness that was slowly spreading across London and mused. He led his hand to his mouth to kiss the palm of Crowley's hand. He started to speak in a low voice. 

"All these years. We should have... I should have... I'm sorry.” 

"No lost years, angel. We still had a good time. Mostly. Unless I had to save your ass from the guillotine or the Nazis or whatever mess you got yourself into. Oh, let's not forget the first time, so romantic... Mesopotamia, the Royal Cemetery at Ur.” 

“Oh please, Crowley. Is it possible for you to stop teasing me now that our relationship is moving to … another level?” 

"Not a chance. Unfortunately, I can't switch it off after 6000 years. Bad habits, you know.” He started kissing his shoulder. “So. How are you feeling?” 

“Wonderful. Close to divine perfection, I would like to say.” 

“Still afraid of this then? Us?” 

“Not afraid of us. Afraid of the… unknown?” 

“No need to be afraid.” He stretched himself. “So, what now, are you hungry? We could go to that Indian restaurant around the corner of your shop?” 

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “That would be lovely, I might actually be a little hungry.” 

“As you wish, angel.” Crowley got out of the bed and loitered to the bathroom. The clothes were of course not dry as they were still lying on the floor. He picked them up and pressed his face into the shirt, inhaling the angel's scent. When he returned to the bedroom, the clothes were dry and without the slightest wrinkle. 

“Oh, thank you, dear.” He sat up and started dressing. Crowley, who had dressed with a snap of his fingers watched him frankly. He liked this scenario. Everyday life, as friends and lovers. 

They walked to the car, holding hands. Aziraphale looked up the fire escape. “I hope your facility manager didn't have to work in the rain all day .” 

The Indian food was excellent and _it_ felt like it used to just with more eye contact and touching each other without feeling awkward. Aziraphale did not retreat when their hands accidentally brushed and he tried the food that Crowley offered him from his fork. 

“That,” Aziraphale said, while walking through the glass door, “was exquisite.” 

“It was. The whole day was, in fact. And so were you.” The demon gave him a peck on the cheek. 

No one wanted to push the other to anything and Crowley moreover had to admit that after a night without sleep he felt a mild weariness. Crowley walked Aziraphale home and after some proper goodnight kisses, he headed back to the Bentley. They agreed to spend the next evening at the shop with some of the wine they had in Tadfield. Aziraphale had still a few bottles left he didn’t take to Jasmine cottage. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After locking the shop's door behind him, he turned on his antique computer. He had enough time until the deadline, but he preferred to finish his tax return early. He went to search for Beethoven's ninth symphony, placed it on the gramophone and prepared himself a cup of tea. 

Then he sat in front of the computer for about 40 minutes – he already had to change the record – and realized that after that day he was by no means able to finish the tax return. It was just surreal. Absently he drove his hand over his neck. He could feel where Crowley had left his _lovebites(?)_... Crowley. He hoped it was all right that they weren’t spending the night together. He wouldn't mind doing it eventually. But he needed some time to process the day. Since he couldn't focus on the _bloody_ taxes, he got up again and started collecting old newspapers from last week to throw in the trash bin behind the store. 

The back door led to an alleyway between houses where the trash bins were standing. If he hadn't been busy humming along to _Ode To Joy_ enthusiastically, he would have felt the demonic presence that was lurking behind his door in a professional manner. But so, the hard blow hit him completely unprepared and sent him to his knees. Surprised, he raised a hand to his temple and looked at the blood sticking to his fingers. He stared towards the back door, not comprehending what was happening. 

Meanwhile, the blood was running down his cheek and neck, soaking his collar. “What...?” he managed to ask before the next blows hit him. By the time the demon was satisfied with his work, the angel had already been unconscious for a while. He dropped the bloodstained crowbar and knelt down next to Aziraphale. He smiled contentedly as he looked at the angel and brushed some of the blood-soaked curls away from his forehead.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't standing in the midst of flames and burning books, but it felt like he was about to. Again. Roughly two months had passed.  
>  _Angel, where are you?_  
>  He went back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair as he tried to spiritually track down a fragment of celestial energy. It was pointless.

The first time he opened his eyes, they were hauling him through some kind of corridor. He couldn't remember how they got there because he kept slipping in and out of consciousness. He tried to look up and as he noticed the flickering neon lights, dirty walls and not least one of the beings that were dragging him, wearing a dirty trench coat, a scarf and a toad, he knew where he was. He couldn't will himself out of his grip. It just didn't work. He didn't care about head office or Gabriel, he had to get out... The attempted miracles exhausted him so he eventually stopped.

_This is not real, this is not happening._ He discovered the blood on his shirt ( _mine?_ ) and became aware of a splitting headache. _They hit me with something._ Despite being paralysed by fear, he tried to memorise the path they took in the endless corridors. As soon as the dizziness had subsided, he would try to escape. His movement did not go unnoticed and the demon Hastur turned his head down to look at him. "Not now," he growled and a hard punch hit the side of his head, sending him into unconsciousness again. 

The second time he opened his eyes, he no longer found himself in the corridors of Hell but on a filthy linoleum floor. Aziraphale looked around without rising from the ground. It was rather a sort of... cell? He was able to see his feet from his position without moving. One of his shoes was missing. Gradually he turned his head until he could see a mirrored window on the wall. It remotely resembled an interrogation room out of some TV show or the room in which he experienced the mockery of a trial in Crowley’s body. _Crowley!_

He sat up abruptly. The room blurred in front of his eyes as a searing headache, paired with some nausea, returned. The shoulder, as well as the right upper arm also seemed to be injured, at least bruised. He drove his fingers over the painful area and whimpered as new pain flared up. 

_Why did they bring me here? Is that a punishment? Again - why? They were done with us. We were released. We… were... Why Hell? Did Gabriel and the others arrange this? Don't they want to get their hands dirty? Is Crowley here as well? Is he … in Heaven? I lost a shoe. Where did I lose my shoe?_

Slowly and laboriously, he pulled himself up, holding on to the table, which was just as rundown as the rest of the room and the rest of Hell he had seen so far. To occupy his mind, knowing that he was about to panic otherwise, he looked around the room once again. 

Two chairs by the table. A narrow bed with a metal frame in a corner. He wouldn't sleep anyway. Chains were recessed into the wall and ceiling. Aziraphale swallowed and turned his attention to a stained sink and a small mirror, completing the interior of the room. Slowly he walked up to it and stared into the mirror. "Oh dear," he whispered to when he saw the dried blood and the corresponding laceration. With one hand he turned on the tap, and only then, he noticed them. Handcuffs on his wrists - or rather two separate cuffs with an attached ring each. They were light, yet roughly forged and with sharp edges. It was impossible to open them or pull them over the wrist without skinning the hand. 

They were engraved. The writing was very small, but the uniqueness of the symbols left no doubt; it was Sumerian. He almost had to suppress a grin. Ancient, forgotten magic, how did they come up with that? 

He recalled the early days and man's fear of the forces of nature or the wrath of their Gods and the attempts to control both. He only had a rough idea of what was standing there, but it had to have something to do with the fact that he couldn't will himself away or perform anything miraculous. Something to bind him. That was preposterously creative for demons. 

_I'm sure Crowley would be very surprised if he knew._ Feeling a sting in his chest thinking of the demon, he fervently hoped that he would be held neither in Hell nor in Heaven. 

Since no one of his captors showed up, he distracted himself by washing the old blood from his face. Turned deliberately away from the window, he took off his coat carefully, hung it over a chair and loosened his bowtie with his left hand because the whole right arm was useless in this state. The waistcoat and shirt were a little more difficult to put over the shoulder than the coat. He looked at the bruise that stretched from his shoulder over half of his upper arm, changing between red and a darker red. 

_It's my own fault... my fault. Carelessness, I should have seen it coming._ He gave his reflection an angry look. Not even 24 hours ago he was in proverbial Heaven. And now he was standing in Hell, literally. Well, there were some chairs, so he dropped on one and placed his arm onto the table to bury his head in the crook of the elbow. Hell exhausted him, made him feel weak. Weaker than he already was. He never asked Crowley if he felt the same when he was brought to Heaven. 

_Weak and soft, that’s what I am. Crowley can't be in Heaven. He wouldn't have let himself be taken by surprise. He would have been prepared... to fight? To defend._ Suddenly and ignoring the pain, he sat straight up again. 

_The least I can do is bear it all with some dignity. If that's even possible after this performance._ He peered at the door and noticed, someone was standing outside. With the remaining courage, he looked straight ahead and prepared himself mentally for what was to come. 

The door opened and Hastur’s face, meanwhile almost familiar, looked at him with hatred until his eyes wandered to the still exposed shoulder. He smiled satisfied. Behind him, a demon stepped into the room. They were exceptionally tall. The demon didn't put as much energy into hiding an animal form as some others did. Very small, dark grey scales were visible on their collarbones and could also be seen on their nape under a ponytail. The eyes were a dark orange, with round pupils focused on him. They were walking slowly and Aziraphale noticed that the tongue was split when it, unknowingly, shot out. _Lizard?_ offered his mind, still eager to distract him from the situation with trivial information. 

The demon sat down on the remaining chair while Hastur stood beside them. The angel tilted his head, pulled his shirt over his shoulder again and asked (with a steady voice, he hoped) "Why am I here?” 

The demon grinned broadly and exposed a range of pointy teeth. 

"Aziraphale. You can't figure it out yourself, can you?" Their voice sounded appealing but had a vicious undertone. 

“I have no idea,” he answered with a firm expression. Since his hands were trembling, he put them on his knees. 

He held their gaze. _It's like the trial. Only without hiding behind a Crowley mask this time. I can do that._ Hastur looked questioningly at the tall demon who appeared like a predator on the hunt. _Komodo dragon?_ whispered Aziraphale's mind, _attenboroughish_. 

Slowly, almost lasciviously, they rose and walked around the table until they were standing behind Aziraphale. They put their hands on his shoulders, gently squeezing. "Before we do anything else, you need to understand one thing, Azir---” 

He kept looking straight ahead but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the crack in the door. If he jumped up quickly, he could reach the door. From there into the large corridor. Perhaps it was possible to hide? Did the symbols suppress his essence so strongly that he was not perceived as a kind of beacon by the other inhabitants of Hell? When they dragged him here, Hell was comparatively empty. As the demon loosened the grip a little, he jumped up. He kicked the overturning chair as hard as he could in the direction of the demon, shoving the table against Hastur. He dashed out the door and slammed it behind him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Crowley closed the apartment door behind him on Sunday evening, it occurred to him that his flat had changed, somehow. It had developed a museum-like character over the years. Selected works of art that had an emotional value for him, but otherwise a cool, clean style. But it'd be nice if everything had a little more... soul. He walked the hallway and imagined Aziraphale's Oxfords standing in front of the wardrobe on which he would hang his coat. A separate compartment in the bathroom cupboard for his stuff, two bathrobes on the door hooks. Books on the coffee table. At that moment he found these little things so embarrassingly heartwarming that he could hardly bear it. “Flashes of love” he heard the angel say. _Bollocks_ , he thought, smirking. 

He opened the balcony door in the bedroom and stood in the crisp autumn air for a moment. _When it gets warmer again in spring, it would be nice to sit here together, having breakfast, lunch, drinking wine..._ With a smile on his face, he went back inside and let himself fall onto the bed. 

It was unmade and a slight smell of _him_ still stuck in the sheets. Within a few minutes, Crowley had fallen asleep. He spent the entire next day in his bed lost in immature daydreams. 

Half an hour earlier than planned, he ran up against the door of the shop, which was usually unlocked when they had planned to meet. He frowned and took a step back and peeked through the next window. He couldn't see any movement inside. 

"Everything all right, sir?" asked a young man who was about to lock his bicycle to a lantern. 

"Hm? Uh, yeah, the uh... the door gets stuck sometimes." Miraculously it opened and Crowley entered the shop. 

“Aziraphale?” Some lights were on and the old computer was running as well. Probably he was upstairs. Hesitantly he went up to the stairs leading to the small flat. He didn't know the last time he had been here. Hadn't he helped to carry something down once? Books, probably. 

As far as could be seen in the semi-darkness, there was no one here either. “Aziraphale?” he tried again, louder. He opened one door after another. Bathroom, a small living room with an open kitchen, a bedroom with a... bed, surprisingly. The whole flat looked as if Aziraphale didn’t spend much time in it and everywhere, except in the bathroom, there were smaller and larger stacks of books. 

After he was back in the bookshop again, he sat down in the armchair, the mobile in his hand. It was worth a try. The angel’s ancient thing rang inside the desk drawer. _Fuck._ He put it back in his pocket and went to the desk. In a small compartment, he found what he was looking for. The address book was several decades old and most of the people behind the addresses were probably no longer alive, but maybe he did write the number down here. _A – B – C – D_ … Device. Nervously he dialled Anathema’s number. 

“Hello?” 

“It’s me. Er, Crowley.” 

He could hear the surprise in her voice as she answered. “Oh, yes. Hello. Everything okay?” 

“Don’t know honestly. Did Aziraphale call you yesterday?” 

“No, he didn’t. I assumed he was with you. Isn’t he? Why are you looking for him? Have you had a fight already? _Really now?”_

“Wha… I… That…uh... No! We didn’t. He isn’t in the bookshop. He should be, though. Should be… here at 8.” Crowley took off his glasses and ran his hand over his face, trying to not sound like some overreacting, obsessive moron. 

“Are you sure you're not overreacting? Maybe he’s somewhere getting something, I don’t know. Take-out Chinese food, something like that?” 

“Hch, maybe. Yeah well, thanks anyway.” 

“Hey listen. Call me tomorrow if he doesn’t show up okay?” 

“Hmyeah.” 

Tomorrow. She didn't understand. This wasn't right. He wasn't standing in the midst of flames and burning books, but it felt like he was about to. Again. Roughly two months had passed. 

_Angel, where are you?_

He went back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair as he tried to spiritually track down a fragment of celestial energy. It was pointless. 

They had met countless times in the past millennia. Whether as a result of the Arrangement or as in more recent years the case, to prevent the Apocalypse, to go out for lunch or to get drunk. And usually, he used to be on time. 

_Maybe I'm really overreacting? Perhaps he_ was _actually out somewhere today and was being held up? If that's the case, he'll be there soon._ Sighing, Crowley sat down again and stared into the darkness. He did this for the next 8 hours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had already caught up with him when he didn't even know in which direction to turn to reach the main corridor. After just a few steps he ran into a group of identical-looking demons that were talking behind a corner. He stumbled right into them and fell, dragging the demons down with him. They looked at him bewildered but when the demons noticed Hastur and the other one approaching, they had a vague idea what was going on and held Aziraphale down. 

“Now, now! That was a rather bad idea you know.” The demon didn’t smile anymore but grasped his arm to lift him up effortlessly. Without thinking, Aziraphale tried to get out of the grip as they made their way back into the room. 

“Stupid angel. You know, you’re making everything harder for yourself.” 

“Let. Me. Go.” Aziraphale demanded desperately and tried to free himself from the firm hold. They reached the room and Hastur locked the door behind him this time. 

He was thrown to the ground and, to be on the safe side, he made no attempt to get up again. Aziraphale looked at the tall demon questioningly. He refused to give up, despite the predicament and asked again “Why have I been brought here? Hell has absolutely no right to do so.” 

“Ah, but of course! As I said before. You should know. Maybe you just think about it again. Maybe some hints?” The demon acted like they were searching for the right words. “Actio et Reactio. Guilt. Repentance? Oh, I heard you like books, maybe _Crime and Punishment_?" While they were talking, they offered a hand to help Aziraphale back on his feet, which he accepted confusedly. Then they took both of the angel’s hands, holding them above his head. 

He was focusing on looking at the demon, frowning and listening to what they were saying so that he realized only due to the pain in his arm that he was being chained up. He whimpered and his courage left him. “No! Stop… You can’t... You mustn't do that!” 

“Believe me, I would have preferred to approach this project in a different style, but this,” they pointed to the chains and sighed “is your fault.” They gave Hastur a nod, who immediately positioned himself behind Aziraphale. The toad-wearing demon was beaming when he snapped his fingers twice and the angel’s waistcoat and shirt disappeared. He couldn't see what the second snap did. 

“I think 10 for a start?” The demon smiled at Hastur. 

“ **No… don’t!** ” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide open, his lower lip trembling. 

The second time Hastur snapped his fingers he must have conjured something like a cane or rod. The first lash came as a surprise. He cried out in pain and tugged at the chains. 

The lizard-like demon came closer, smiling, cupping his face with their hands and pressing a thumb on his lips tenderly. 

“Punishment, you remember why?” They whispered, running their thumb across his lips. “Don’t run away, when you are not supposed to and you’ll be fine. Try that again, and I'll let him tear out every single fingernail of yours.” 

He didn't dare make another sound but he flinched at each hit, while the demon held his face firmly in his hands. By the time Hastur was finished, his back felt like it was on fire. Hastur was also the one who unlocked the chains and then left the room without a word. 

Aziraphale let himself fall to the ground and looked up. He couldn’t see his back but was sure that his skin hadn't taken the blows very well. He rubbed his aching wrists, which started to swell slightly. He felt drained of all energy but repeated the question. “Why am I here?” 

They patted his head. “You’ll figure it out, angel.” 

The demon left him on the ground and also walked out of the room. Aziraphale didn’t move. He watched the narrow gap under the door as the shadow of the demon moved away. He couldn't help it, a soft sob escaped his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, guess who watched a BBC documentary with Sir David Attenborough?  
> \--  
> Hope to finish ch. 8 on Wednesday.  
> \--  
> Had a rough week. I'm always happy to get (kind) feedback and kudos.  
> \--  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hand stroked across the marginal coverts, they were delicate, and near the skin of the ulna and radius. Beside goosebumps, anger was spreading throughout Aziraphale. No one was allowed to touch him there. That was intimate. Not even Crowley had done that yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey,  
> today I am a bit in a hurry so I will correct potential mistakes later.  
> I hope you like it anyway.

Dawn broke and it seemed as if it was going to be another rainy day. Crowley looked into his teacup, which he had been holding in his hand for several hours, and then at his watch. He decided that young people who had just fallen in love were certainly already awake to make each other breakfast or to do other _things_.

“Hmh?!” 

“Me again. Crowley.” 

“Oh my God. Uh, what time is it? It's not even 6 o'clock yet! Has something happened? Her voice sounded sincerely worried. 

"No, well, at least nothing new. He's still not here." He rubbed his eyes and reached for the glasses. "I, uh..." Why had he called at all, what could the humans do anyway? 

“Crowley,” her voice was sympathetic and not a bit sarcastic as usual. "Suggestion: Newt wants to visit his mother in Dorking today at about noon. He will take a detour to drop me off and we’ll think about something. If Aziraphale hasn't shown up by then anyway. Newt will join us this evening or tomorrow morning. Send me a message if he has returned home in the meantime.” 

Crowley swallowed. He would never admit it, not to Aziraphale and certainly not to the mortals, but it was kinda comforting that he wasn’t alone in his misery. "Thank you,” he replied and meant it. "I'll stay at the bookshop and send you the address." 

Of course, Aziraphale didn't just show up like nothing happened. With feelings that oscillated between sorrow, fear, and anger, he dropped onto the sofa and grabbed the top book from the next stack. Goethe’s Faust “Huh, right,” he scoffed and threw it back. He rose abruptly and began pacing through the shop, and promptly stumbled across the worn carpet that covered the summoning circle / transportation portal. He stopped and frowned. _Hmmm. Am I that low? Hell yeah, but. Nah._ Vigorously he shook his head to banish the thought. Never ever would he summon an angel to ask for the whereabouts of Aziraphale, not for all the tea in China. 

Anathema arrived just after 12 midday. She laid her hand on his back, patting him and started wandering around in the bookshop. "Are you looking for some kind of energy? I have tried everything, not a chance." She stopped in front of the carpet and pushed the edge to the side with her foot. She looked at him questioningly. "That was already there before. He used it to... phone home." He wiggled a finger and rolled his eyes at the same time because he couldn’t resist making that joke. 

She sat down on the sofa, Crowley took the chair at the desk. "I don't know how we can be of help, but... maybe we can at least calm you down. I still think that he’ll just show up eventually. But tell me, what happened on Sunday, did anything seem strange to you?" 

Crowley put his elbows on his knees and spent a few moments thinking about the day. "We had dinner - right around the corner. Then I brought him back to the shop and left. When I came here the next day, he was gone. The End." 

"Hm. Okay, that's not much. Did you... did you call the hospitals or the police?" 

"Did I what?! Listen, if he was with the police or in the uhh... hospital, he would," Crowley waved his hand, "… and he would be back right away, safe and sound." 

"Not if he is so badly hurt that he is not conscious. Or --" 

"Stop it!" He jumped up and raised his finger threateningly. "Don’t say that. No, he's... I don't know..." Crowley dropped back into the chair and buried his face in his hands. 

"Sorry, I didn't want to make it any worse." One hand laid down on his knee, Anathema knelt in front of him. "To be on the safe side I’ll call the hospitals, okay? Is there a TV somewhere because maybe we should watch the news? Maybe something happened somewhere that we can link to him?” 

The demon took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, if it calms you down, call them. No, he doesn't have a TV." He flicked his fingers. "But he does now. My TV is upstairs in the flat." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale couldn't really see where he was, but he suspected it was a pub. He heard music, glasses were clinking and it smelled like alcohol. He closed his eyes. He was facing Crowley. _A dream_ he thought. _Why am I sleeping?_ Crowley looked at him. "Angel, you are here! I thought I lost you- again!" 

"No, I'm not... dead. I'm... in Hell, I'm afraid." Aziraphale shuddered when he realised where his body was right now. "Crowley, I am scared. I don't know how to get out of here." 

Dream Crowley took his hand. "Try to hold on. I’ll find you. As always. Promise." 

Aziraphale smiled at the attempt of his own subconscious to comfort him. "I'm trying." 

He woke with a jolt and found himself curled up on the floor of his prison. The fact that he had simply fallen asleep was a bad sign. Hell drained his energy and he still felt exhausted although he had slept. But Dream Crowley was right. So far, the real Crowley had always found him when he was in need. At the thought of the pain and humiliation that was yet to come, he had to fight down the ascending fear. He would have to face it and wait for Crowley to come and get him. Fighting them was out of the question, he was no match for two demons, not to mention the rest of Hell. 

The door opened and said demons entered the room. _Here we go again_ he thought as he rose. The lizard Demon tossed him a crumpled piece of fabric. It was his shirt. 

"I'm sorry, we actually forgot that yesterday," They said with a weird smile. "According to our information you are not opposed to human… pleasures. Would you like something to eat? Drink?” 

"Oh, I guess you're the _good cop_ today?" Aziraphale asked and regretted his boldness the same second. _That was incredibly stupid._

Within an instant, the demon was behind him, grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head on the table. A voice hissed into his ear "I'm very impressed that you still have the audacity to joke in this situation." They glanced at the mirrored glass. "But if you're keen on punishment, fine with me - and you'll make Hastur happy, of course." With their hand still wrapped around the angel’s neck, they directed him into the middle of the room and chained him up like the day before - although Aziraphale couldn't tell whether it was day or night, Monday or Wednesday. 

Hastur wasted no time and words and already held his equipment in his hand when the chains were not yet attached to the cuffs. The pain in Aziraphale's arms and wrists brought tears to his eyes. 

"Go ahead, Hastur," he said in a weak voice. "Nothing I haven't experienced before." 

"What do you mean?" the taller demon asked irritated. 

"To be flogged," panted Aziraphale. "In 6 millennia you can experience one or another." 

"I see." The lizard pondered, then they looked at Hastur briefly before nodding towards the door. Hastur lowered his cane. 

"You got to be fucking kidding me" he clamoured. 

The demon didn't answer and waited until the toad left the room, scolding. After the Duke had slammed the door shut behind him, they walked slowly around the angel and tilted their head thoughtfully. "I’ll try something else, then. For starters, show me your wings, please?” They asked. 

"No!" Aziraphale shook his head. He didn't want to and he couldn't. He was not able to manifest them anyway, thanks to the handcuffs. 

This seemed to spring to the demon’s mind as well. "Oh, that's right. Excuse me." Friendliness was at least as terrifying as the threat of pain, Aziraphale realised. A hand was placed between his shoulder blades. 

The hand shifted to another plane and made the wings manifest themselves. Unable to control this by himself, the angel felt a cold shiver running down his spine. 

His torturer let his hands skim over the feathers. "So white and pure," they whispered, rather to themselves. "Do you sometimes wonder why they are still so immaculate despite the things you are doing?" They didn't wait for an answer. 

He tried to make his wings disappear again but it didn’t work. Furthermore, Aziraphale couldn't stop the demon from slowly pulling at the metacarpal bone, causing the left wing to spread out involuntarily. The hand stroked across the marginal coverts, they were delicate, and near the skin of the ulna and radius. Beside goosebumps, anger was spreading throughout Aziraphale. No one was allowed to touch him there. that was intimate. Not even Crowley had done that yet. 

He saw himself and the demon in the mirrored window while they were fondling his feathers and turned his face away in disgust. As though they’d guessed his thoughts, they brought their face close to his ear. “Does he caress them? Does he hold on to them when he _fucks_ you?” 

Shocked, Aziraphale opened his mouth while shame and rage flared up. But before he could respond, he felt a stinging pain he couldn't locate and everything turned black. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale, wake up. Please! A cool hand rested on his cheek. With some effort, he opened his eyes. It was sunny outside. Outside? He raised his head. A floor-to-ceiling window. A balcony. He turned his head. Crowley held him in his arm and smiled. “Well, there you are, Angel. Hello." He looked around confused. He was in Crowley’s flat. On his bed. 

“Crowley? How... how did you get me here?" He raised his hand to his head. 

"Just walked right into Hell to smite a few demons and get my angel out," he answered affectionately. Carefully he laid him down on the bed and settled next to him. 

The wings were where they belonged - in safety, and apparently so was he. Crowley placed his hand on his bare chest. "I missed you, Aziraphale." He bent over to him to kiss him. His hand wandered to his face, cupping his jaw while his lips parted and his tongue touched Aziraphale’s lips. 

He opened his mouth slightly and let the serpent’s tongue explore it. He kissed more forcefully, his hand now tugging mildly at the angel’s hair. Aziraphale broke the kiss. "Crowley, please. Is this really the right time?" He was confused, wasn't he still panicking a few seconds ago? He didn’t recall exactly. 

His treacherous body didn't seem to mind the change, of course, he suddenly realised. Crowley noticed it as well and his hand travelled between Aziraphale’s thighs, cupping his semi-erect cock. "I think the timing is well chosen," he replied with a grin. Half-heartedly, Aziraphale tried to guide the hand of the demon away from his crotch. Crowley straddled him and pressed his wrists into the mattress. "If you knew how much I've been longing for you..." he groaned and kissed him again. 

At the same time, he rubbed his groin against the angel's. "Please let me be good to you, please..." he begged. He kissed his jaw, his neck and sucked somewhere in between. He bit his nipples gently and came back for his neck, leaving a wet trail with his tongue. Aziraphale’s breath quickened and he felt light-headed. Why should he deny Crowley something he had already given him? He couldn't remember why he felt uncomfortable at first. He'd been _somewhere_ and Crowley had saved him. A hand was tugging at his pants. 

The next moment Crowley was on top of him again and he discovered they were both naked. He kissed him again and lowered himself onto him. “I’ll ride you, just relax,” he whispered.” Ohh, Crowley this, I...” He couldn't form a coherent sentence as the demon started to rock his hips back and forth. 

He shoved him across the mattress a little and suddenly a dull pain made itself noticeable. _Why does my back hurt?_ He frowned and looked at Crowley. He had his eyes closed and was moaning softly. The room darkened and the sun disappeared. “What's the matter Aziraphale, don't you enjoy it?” Crowley opened his eyes and beamed at him; only that it wasn't Crowley who looked down on him out of orange eyes. The room around him crumbled into itself. 

They were still in the cell, but Aziraphale was lying on the bed, his hands chained to the headboard and the demon on top of him, riding him with increasing pace. He felt like losing the ground below his feet and he tried to free himself. The demon laughed between ragged breaths. They leaned back and pushed his wriggling legs down with their hands. 

“Calm down, you've liked it so far, haven't you?” _No, no, no._ He knew, this time, that he was building up to an orgasm and it was horrifying to realise there was nothing he could do. “Please stop," he pleaded. 

The demon didn't react, because at that moment they came with a feral groan. 

The contractions around his shaft and the fact that they kept on riding him made his body responded to the stimulation in a very human way and he came, too. Determined to not make one single sound, he bit the inside of his cheek so hard until he tasted the blood. He very much wanted to cry. 

Of course, the lizard felt his orgasm anyway. Satisfied with themselves, they fell beside him. As Aziraphale was still chained, he had no chance to retreat from their touch, as much as he wanted to. 

„Oh, yeah, like in the good old days!“ They stretched out contentedly. 

He stared at the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears when it came to his mind. „You're a succubus,“ he concluded. 

"Succubus, incubus, the field of work has always been broad. I haven't had such a splendid mission in a long time. Did you know there are other venomous reptiles besides serpents by the way? Always useful when it comes to difficult... clients.“ They turned their head abruptly. „I know why he wants to have sex with you." They lowered their voice. "Why he needs it. Do you want to know?“ 

They were startled by a noise when someone opened the door. Hastur showed his unpleasant face. "You have to report to Beelzebub immediately. They are not happy about your solo run! Me neither, by the way,” he nagged. 

"Too bad. Next time then, yes?" They got up and walked to the door, with a small gesture they were dressed, with the next the chains disappeared. They left the room without saying another word. 

Aziraphale curled up on the bed and began to weep unrestrainedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed that Aziraphale is always miserable at the end of the last few chapters. Gonna fix that somehow.  
> \-----  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Crowley is trying to pray, Aziraphale just does it, Anathema is reading and Newt buys some food.

Of course, in no hospital an unidentified man was admitted who would have fitted the angel's description. Neither was a call to the police successful. Crowley ordered them something to eat that evening, but he only drank that red wine Aziraphale had bought on Saturday. Then they sat silently in the bookshop. The nightlife in the streets of Soho's was already in full swing when Anathema rose.

"I'm gonna go check some books." 

"Uhm, okay? " 

"For research. I saw he has a bunch of grimoires. Do you know if he has something _older_? The originals, so to speak, that were the sources of the grimoires?" 

"I don't have a fucking idea. There's a room, in the basement, where he's storing some scrolls, knock yourself out." 

Sometime after midnight, Crowley offered Anathema to sleep upstairs in the flat. Newton was still with his mother and at some point, she had to rest. 

Crowley thought about an idea he had earlier on. "Well, all right, if nothing helps... I mean, one can, er, ask politely. Just have a… a word with them. What can we lose? Ask them _nicely_ and we' ll see. It's quite simple, isn't it?” He muttered to himself as he gathered 8 candles and positioned them around the circle, lighting them with a nod. He looked at the circle doubtfully. It wasn't long ago that he had addressed words (some would call it a prayer) to Her but this time he was hoping for an actual answer. He _had to_ talk to someone _above_. 

However, he had to be prepared for the fact that no one would answer a demon's call. Nevertheless, he fell to his knees and took a deep breath. _Is that appropriate? Better lay it on thick._ He folded his hands. 

“Uhm. Hello. This is… Crowley speaking. I need to talk to… somebody in charge. Please.” 

`"Good evening and welcome to your angelic helpdesk. We kindly ask you for your patience, you will be connected to the next free line."`

The circle was glowing in a white light, and Crowley held his breath unnecessarily as a face materialised in the light. 

An angel looked down on him and gasped at the same moment. "Demon...!" 

"Please, wait a minute!" Crowley raised his hands. "Please. I just want to ask a question." 

Dumbfounded, the angel looked at him with mouth agape. She seemed to be wondering whether she should end the conversation or get the superior. 

"You're the demon Crowley. The Serpent." She said. "You are well known here. Not only because of the Garden but also for tempting an angel into treason." 

Crowley thought he could hear the excitement in her voice. Probably the prevented Apocalypse was popular gossip after the war didn’t happen. It was presumably bloody boring working for some celestial call center. He hoped that the angel would help him, just to add a little thrill to her everyday working routine. 

"That's what this is about. The angel in question has disappeared. I wanted to know whether he, umm, where he is. Possibly, er, nearby? In Heaven, that is." 

Slips of paper rustled as the angel looked down briefly to read something. After a short look to the right and left she said in a low voice, "He's not here. After his trial, it was decided not to bring him back for the time being. Whether that's temporary or final, I don't know, demon." 

"Ooh, all right. Fine. Thanks a lot, bye." He indicated a bow with his head and the glow of the circle slowly faded. 

_Well, we've ruled that out._ He took another bottle of wine and spread out on the sofa, considering what he could do next. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale sat down on 'his' chair and stared dead ahead after putting on his trousers. He had already been crying for some time, curled up on the bed. He would have loved to sleep, get some rest… However, there was no point in dreaming that everything would work out well in the end, just to wake up from sleep in his cell to be tormented. _Without sleep, no rude awakening_ he thought with a bleak smile. 

He tried to guess the days he had already been imprisoned by the demons, although this knowledge wouldn't help him either. The red of the bruises on his arm had given way to a dark purple by now, so he estimated that he had been there for almost a week. With every passing minute, his hope that he might leave Hell again faded a little more. His hands didn't stop shaking so he occupied them by twisting his ring around his finger. 

He was startled by the sound of the opening door. Hastur stomped angrily toward him. "I can't believe this idiot's deviating from the planned procedure! One shouldn't work with demons who haven't participated in a group project for thousands of years." He stood in front of Aziraphale, shrugged his shoulders, throwing his hands in the air. "Some people are just completely unfit for teamwork, aren't they?" 

Since he assumed that an answer was redundant, he didn't state his opinion about the team behaviour of demons during torture. “Just because some demon’s _slut_ made them sentimental, thinking about _the good old days_!” The demon gritted his teeth, scowling. “This is your fault, obviously!” A sudden punch hit Aziraphale straight in the face, he lost his balance and fell off the chair. The Duke kicked him several times, wherever he could score; guts, ribs or face, as he continued to yell. "You're a disgrace, angel, for thousands of years you have been throwing yourself at a demon who would otherwise have simply done his job. Corrupted! It would have been a glorious battle! Megiddo! I was there you know?” 

Hastur and Crowley knew each other for a long time and Hastur was also aware of Aziraphale, Crowley’s angelic counterpart on Earth. He had always suspected him of being to blame for Crowley occasionally neglecting his duties. He hated the celestial being deeply, and would it have been possible, he would have enjoyed watching when the angel had to walk into hellfire. Well, if it would actually have killed him, of course. He let himself fall on the angel's lower back. Aziraphale coughed up some blood, breathing heavily. The pain didn't allow him to think much, but he was had the feeling that the demon wasn't finished with him yet. 

Since Hastur sat on his aching back, he couldn’t defend himself, not against the one hand, holding him down, and not against the other one that was pressing and shifting between his shoulder blades. "Don't," he tried, knowing it would be pointless. His wings unfurled and the demon roughly grabbed one of them. 

“Maybe you're here to Fall, ever thought about that? Simply because you are the worthless bitch of some renegade, equally worthless demon? That Heaven advised us to give you special treatment as a welcome gift? But aren’t they," he pulled on one wing "much too white and pure for a future demon?" He grasped a single feather of the primaries between thumb and index finger and slowly pulled it until the skin yielded with an almost inaudible but unpleasant, soft sound. "At least we can speed up the moult, can't we?" 

He dropped the feather and grabbed the next one. At first, it was just an unpleasant, but bearable sensation, but through the constant repetition the pain increased. Aziraphale groaned but didn’t beg Hastur to stop because he suspected it would only encourage him. After clearing one wing of its primaries without receiving the expected reaction, the demon boredly turned away from his victim, leaving the room eventually. 

After he was gone, Aziraphale got up from the ground to inspected his wing. He picked up the feathers, pressed them against his chest and began to pray. He prayed to Her, begging Her for forgiveness for something he had apparently done, without even knowing what it was. He also prayed for Crowley, that he would not be tortured as well and that he would be in a safe place. How long had it been since the demon had held him in his arms in this _new way_ for the first time? The afternoon in Tadfield and their conversation in Hogback Wood seemed like an eternity ago. He still couldn't believe that he was guilty of any sin that justified his torture. But what if… He swallowed hard. The seed of doubt, which Hastur had planted, begun to sprout in his mind. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Newt arrived Wednesday morning and brought some breakfast. Anathema was already awake, preparing tea while Crowley was still lying on the sofa, pretending to be asleep. He felt dreadfully miserable, incapable and powerless. He had no idea where to look for Aziraphale except.. one place. But he couldn't imagine any reason why Hell should have any interest in the angel. In contrary to "above" he also had no idea who to ask "below" if anyone knew anything about the angel's whereabouts. 

Anathema nudged him. "Tea? Croissants?" He rubbed his eyes and sat up straight. He had no interest in eating or drinking but accepted the cup of tea for the sake of courtesy. 

"Thank you. Morning. Newt.” 

Newt sat down awkwardly next to him. "Sorry about what happened. I mean - _if_ something happened! Maybe nothing... happened at all." He stopped talking and stared into his teacup. Anathema laid her hand on his shoulder. "I'll be reading some scrolls. To understand one sentence, you need two more books to translate. So, unfortunately, deciphering them takes longer than I thought. Sorry about that, I' not _that kind_ of an occultist. If you need me I’m downstairs." 

Newt spent about half an hour with the brooding demon before excusing himself, fleeing to Anathema. 

They spent the whole day in the basement, with the exception of a few small breaks. In the evening, Crowley offered them to sleep another night in the flat. The fact that they agreed to stay made it easier for Crowley to stay too, although he didn't really talk to them much. But the presence, especially that of someone who was really trying to work out a plan, reassured him. 

However, as the two withdrew to Aziraphale’s bedroom at night, he was close to throwing them out. The thought of them lying in the bed in which he should have been lying with _him_ caused Crowley to feel angry and he had to will himself to think rationally; the two of them weren't to blame for anything. 

The next day was the same as the previous. Newt made sure they had something to eat and Anathema read more scrolls and books. Crowley briefly drove to his flat with the excuse that he wanted to take a shower. But he just felt like he had to leave the bookshop for a moment. At home, he felt even worse, so he returned after a few hours. 

He sat down on the sofa, were Anathema was sitting, drinking something out of a bottle, threw the glasses aside and rubbed his eyes. His gaze fell on Goethe again and he picked up the book, browsing the pages. "I've been thinking," he began and continued hesitantly, not quite finding the right words. "Is it because of me? Am I... to blame that he disappeared, that maybe something _happened_ to him? He looked at Anathema questioningly. 

"No... I don't think so... But what makes _you_ think that?" 

"Do you know what happens to Gretchen when she gets involved with Faust? She is fucked. In every sense of the word." Avoiding her gaze, he puts the book back again. 

"I... see. And you think you're to blame because Aziraphale _got involved_ with you. So, he’s Gretchen, you’re Faust? Mephisto? Both?" She raised an eyebrow. 

"Whatever," he sighed. 

“He got involved with you a long time ago if that's how you want to put it. I still believe that there is another explanation for the disappearance than your dramatic-theatrical analogy," she patted him on the back. Anathema wasn't the type for hugs and cuddles and assumed he wasn't either. Still, she felt the need to tell him _we're here for you._ "Oh, there's Newt with the groceries." 

They had dinner together. The humans ate, he got drunk. They sat with him for a while and talked quietly, but soon afterwards they wanted to go to bed in order to get back to work early the next morning. 

The air seemed stuffy and hot so he left the shop, sat down in the Bentley and drove aimlessly through the streets to clear his head. After driving around without thinking for a while, he realised he was in the financial district. In front of him, Broadgate Tower dominated the night. Without wasting another thought, he walked through the door that opened because he wanted it to. He hesitated a split second before turning to _his_ escalator. He took a few steps and - stopped. 

_What the..._ He looked at his feet, lifted them up and tapped the floor. Nothing happened. No sign of _sinking into the ground_ as it was usually the case when he took the escalator to Hell. Crowley ran up and down several times and tried again, but it seemed pretty clear: The main entrance was blocked. 

"What the fuck!?" He vented his anger. "You damn bastards," he shouted at the floor. Furiously he left the building and again, helplessness surged up in him as he drove back to the bookshop. 

"They won't let me in anymore." He offered Anathema and Newt two cups as they came down the stairs Friday morning. 

"Er. What?" Newt frowned. 

"I tried to get in yesterday. Into Hell. It didn't work. They... they locked me out. I got barred." With hanging shoulders, he let himself fall against a column and sank to the ground. He buried the face in his hands. "I think it means..." 

"Hold on," Anathema interrupted him. "Have you ever tried to go down since the day of the Apocalypse?" 

"I, uhm... No.” _Maybe we both just got kicked out. Neither of us tried to go “home” again after our “trials”_ He tried to calm down. "Okay. okay, maybe you're right," he sighed – "Then… let's hear what you two could find out in the last few days?" 

They sat down and Anathema pulled out a notebook. "I would like to try something more or less complicated. I have found many summoning spells and I think I could find a common denominator. I could dissect the spells into pieces as I need them and create one customized for Aziraphale. To bring him back. I will need some ingredients. I'll go buy them to make sure everything is _right_ , so don't bother with..." she wiggled her fingers in front of Crowley’s face. “I think it'll be finished soon.” 

Crowley felt some hope rise and he nodded. "I see, all right. I'm in." 

Someone stopped in front of the shop door and peeked through the window. "We're closed, damn it!" The head disappeared. Crowley just turned back to the humans when he froze. 

"What's wrong?" Newton sounded confused. 

Instead of an answer, Crowley leapt up and lunged to the door. He pulled the door open, looking up and down the relatively empty street. "Stop," he yelled when he spotted the person. But the guy didn't think of stopping, instead, he started to run. Crowley took up the pursuit, Anathema and Newt in tow. After a few steps, however, he had had enough, snapped his fingers and a garbage can that stood on the side of the street fell in front of the fugitive's feet. He stumbled and fell. 

When Crowley caught up with him, he pulled him up by his collar, pushed him against the next wall, and asked, with a threatening undertone "Who are you, who are you working for and where is Aziraphale?” 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder from behind. It was Newt and Anathema stood beside him, panting. "Please, not out here. Whatever is going on, let's go back to the bookshop." 

Crowley took a deep breath. "Come with me," he snarled at the young man, who showed surprisingly little resistance as the demon pulled him back to the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, I'll upload the next chapter right now. :)  
> \----  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With trembling hands, he opened his bag. He pulled out a bunch of A4 photos from a folder. With a steady grip, Crowley took the photos out of his hand. The first few were taken some days after the Apocalypse that never happened. The two of them in the bookshop, quite harmless. Apparently he took the pictures of them through the window. There were many other innocuous photos from late summer. Then, there were the photos from last weekend.

After Newton locked the door of the shop behind him, Crowley pushed the young man away. He tripped against a column and slipped to the floor. His face displayed fear and he held his bag in front of him like a shield. Crowley knelt in front of him, one hand resting on his leg.

“Where. Is. He.” 

The guy just whimpered at first. "Shit, shitshitshit... I have no idea, man, I don't know what you're talking about, are you crazy?!" Crowley became aware that he wasn't wearing his glasses, but he didn't give a fuck about it. He liked the fear of the human quite well at the moment. 

Threateningly, Crowley raised his hand, which looked more like a claw by now. "Don't try to fuck with me, you son of a bitch. I saw you. The guy with the bike a few days ago. And you were in the park on Sunday. Why should you _accidentally_ hang out in exactly that park on that day and a few days later here in front of the door, twice?" 

The guy looked from one to the other and raised his shoulders. "Well. Yeah, you know. Yes, it's true. I followed you. I,..." he got up, keeping an eye on Crowley and smoothed out his clothes. "I'm Matthew and I am studying here in London. I usually earn money on the side, by s...spying... so I'm not saying that I'm a private investigator. But people hire me to find out if they're being cheated by their partner for example. I once put a notice on a bulletin board. There were a few assignments and since then it has been running by itself. And a few weeks ago a guy called me and offered me a lot of money to shadow you and your boyfriend. I suppose it's your ex by the way he spoke about you." 

Crowley stood there, open-mouthed, and Anathema and Newt looked at each other. "My _ex_? What? Who was that?" 

The young man named Matthew figured that currently no danger seemed to be expected from the three of them and sat down on the sofa, his messenger bag on the lap. "He was a pretty weird guy and I only saw him once. He called me and I thought he had my number from a notice or word of mouth. He told me to observe the owner of the bookshop and his friend with the "old car" whenever possible. He wanted photographic proof and I was to inform him as soon as..." more anxious once again, he stopped mid-sentence and looked up to Crowley. 

"Go on," Anathema urged him. She stood next to Crowley and placed her hand on his forearm. She was sure that he could kill the human at one hit but hoped that her hand would have a calming effect on the demon. 

Matthew closed his eyes for a second before continuing. "He wanted me to take photos of you and your boyfriend as, er, the two of you get... closer. I somehow managed to get into the empty flat next door and... and I followed you out to the park. Luckily, that day I had, uhm, my room-mate's motorcycle with me. That's why I didn't lose you when you drove all the way out to the park.” 

Crowley raised his hand and he stopped. "Photos. Show me the photos." 

With trembling hands, he opened his bag. He pulled out a bunch of A4 photos from a folder. With a steady grip, Crowley took the photos out of his hand. The first few were taken some days after the Apocalypse that never happened.The two of them in the bookshop, quite harmless. Apparently he took the pictures of them through the window. There were many other innocuous photos from late summer. Then, there were the photos from last weekend. Aziraphale getting into the car with a bag and Aziraphale getting out of the car in the evening. These pictures seemed to have been taken from another angle, presumably from said empty flat. He had taken pictures of their embrace and the kiss on the forehead. 

The picnic in the park followed, the first _real_ kiss... Anathema felt the muscles in Crowley's arm tighten beneath her hand. Then the rain came, the picture quality worsened because it was darker, but both could be identified. 

The last pictures had been shot from the outside again, namely... the balcony. Crowley held his breath. Pictures of his bedroom. Due to the bad lighting, the pictures were grainy, but of course, he knew it was him who was leaning over Aziraphale. Newt and Anathema, who had been peering over his shoulder, turned their eyes away from the last photos. He didn't care, he just dropped them. 

"I," he closed his eyes for a second. "I'll kill you now, human." He raised his hand, which looked more like a claw. 

"No, no, don't do that!" Newt tried to turn him around. Crowley stared at him confused, no sclera visible in his eyes. Newt was pretty sure that he couldn't do anything about the demon if he really wanted to hurt him. Surprisingly, Newt's shouting brought Crowley back to the present. 

"All right, I' m fine, don't panic." He took a deep breath. Then he turned back to the stranger. "Go on," he hissed. 

Although fear was written all over his face, he answered. " That afternoon, after I climbed the fire escape to your apartment and took the last... photos, the guy called. I told him... I told him that you and the blond one... That I had the proof he needed." Matthew swallowed "He wanted to meet, so I had the photos printed out and took them to St. James's Square. He was already waiting there and... I thought something was wrong. The guy looked very strange. All dirty and with some weird white hair. Maybe it was a wig ---" 

"Hastur," Crowley whispered towards Anathema and Newt. "Did he say anything else?" he asked in a quiet voice. 

"I just thought he was your ex-boyfriend and I was surprised that he was pleased to see the pictures... he just laughed and said 'finally'... He gave me the money and disappeared. Then I was worried somehow and thought, ‘I better have a look at it’. That's why I kept coming back here, to check if everything is all right. Where... where is your friend?" Fear and a premonition swung in his voice. 

Crowley snorted. "I've been wondering the same thing - until now. But at least that's cleared up. Seems my so-called _ex-boyfriend_ has him in his _custody_." 

The young man looked panic-stricken from one to the other. "Oh my God. Should I come with you to the police station? I could give them a description? I'm so sorry, I thought it was a jealousy thing…" He looked devastated. 

"Crowley," Anathema whispered soothingly. 

"The police can’t help us, boy. I'll handle it myself. You'll give me your number if there's anything else I want to know and then you'll leave." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Without being able to bring his wings back to another plane on his own, Aziraphale sat in his cell with his wings tucked close to his back. He didn't flinch or look up as the door opened. He was tired, hurt and wanted to go home. A hand touched his wing, gently stroking along the bones. So this time it was clearly not Hastur who came to visit him. 

The hands wandered over his bare shoulders and the demon bent down towards him. 

"Courteous of Hastur to prepare you for me. Pity about the feathers, though." They pinched the plucked wing. Then they lowered their head and touched his neck with their lips. 

Aziraphale pushed them away. That he was inferior to them did not mean that he would allow them to do this without resistance. The Incu/Succubus laughed at the breakout. "Really adorable," they murmured, but still grabbed him without mercy and hurled him onto the table easily. 

A little demonic miracle and chains were attached to the table's legs and the cuffs in order to hold the angel in place. The hands brushed over his waist, sliding between his stomach and table, holding him almost tenderly. Grinding his teeth, Aziraphale accepted the involuntary attention. Unpleasant, but better than whiplashes and torn feathers. As the hands tried to unzip his trousers, he began to squirm and writhe. "Don't touch me. Don’t…!” 

The demon pressed him tight against the table to prevent him from pushing them away. They murmured "By the way, have you thought about a good reason why a demon should actively seek the companionship of an angel?” They cocked their head. "Your demon is trying to fill the hole She left behind when She turned away from him, as She did with all of us down here. An angel, created by God, after all, radiates a memory of Her love and that's better than nothing. That's why he has been following you for all this time. But I have to admit that his idea was not a bad one." 

“Lies,” Aziraphale whispered. 

They buried their face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and took a deep breath. "As a demon, you can't get closer to anything more heavenly than this." A feral moan escaped their throat. The hands found the fly, the trousers were torn down and the demon leaned back to look down at the angel, chained down in front of them with weakly shaking wings. 

Aziraphale tugged at the chains. Of course, his wrists hurt where the cuffs cut into the skin causing it to bleed. But he knew exactly what this demon had in mind for his torment and he didn't want to give it to him willingly. “Get the _fuck_ off of me!” 

He tried to straighten himself up, but the demon didn't allow any movement except his own. They pressed their knees between his legs forcing them apart. Something shifted and Aziraphale felt the naked skin of his torturer on his own. Their hands spread his butt cheeks apart, to let one hand slide between them. 

“Please don’t do this, please!” Aziraphale begged, every attempt to show no weakness forgotten. He heard a spitting sound and something wet pushing against his buttocks. 

“No lubricants in Hell, darling. You’ll have to take my cock just like this.” One hand patted his shoulder before roughly grabbing his hair, pulling back his head. "I'd say _relax, then it won't be that bad _, but that'd be a lie, wouldn’t it?” Without further warning, they thrust into him “… scream, angel.” And the angel screamed.__

____

____

The burning pain was excruciating, tears ran down his cheeks and he couldn't control it. Between the cries, he begged them to stop. As a result, they started pumping their cock even deeper into him. “This is just divine,” they moaned, as they grabbed his wings to steady themselves. 

Eventually, he stopped screaming and only sobbed quietly with every thrust, which seemed to spur the demon, as their movements began to stutter and they dug their fingernails into the flesh of his hips. From then on, it didn't take long and they came. Aziraphale could feel them spilling into him and he felt sick. 

"Oh my," they chuckled as they withdrew. “That was good. You did very well, darling.” As they walked around the table, they reached back into his hair again to adjust his head. “Definitely something we should do again,” they groaned before kissing him forcefully. Then they unchained him and left. 

He stayed down, panting, as semen and blood ran down his thigh. By now, he could imagine Falling would feel like this; pain, humiliation, and loneliness. Besides the physical pain, the words of the demon also hurt. He couldn't and wouldn't believe whatever they were telling him. Crowley wouldn't hurt him for his own benefit _Crowley, my dear, I hope you are all right._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the wannabe-spy left, Crowley collapsed on the sofa. The two humans settled down next to him. “So, how...” Newt hesitated. “How do you get someone out of Hell?” 

“Well, I’ll go downstairs and get him, of course.” Crowley looked at Anathema. “Or we could try summoning him like you planned to? Maybe it works?” 

She smiled softly and nodded. “Of course. And Crowley. This isn’t your fault okay? You did nothing wrong.” 

“You sure I didn’t? Cause it fucking feels like it. If I had left him alone, he would've been of no interest to _my_ lot." He picked up a photo and held it in front of her face. "That’s what they were after.” _I'm almost certain I'm going to kill Hastur._

Newt took the photo out of his hand. "He looks happy, doesn't he? It's not like you forced him. He chose you.” 

Anathema took Newts's hand and squeezed it. Then she reached for Crowley’s as well. “I'll get to work, then. We can do this.” She got up and left to finish the spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I should unravel some sentences, but I'm just incapable of doing anything right now.  
> Hope you still enjoyed it a little.  
> You can leave a kudo or a comment if you like.  
> \---  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley came to the conclusion that there was only one possible option; first he kicked a candle over with his foot, the same foot then destroyed the outer line of the circle. He jumped and let himself fall on the spot where the angel kept reappearing. He landed on Aziraphale’s back the next time he materialised and Crowley disappeared with him as he vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are still with me: Hello and sorry for the delay.  
> Sorry about that, but I rewrote this and the next chapter.

It took a few more days until Anathema thought that the spell she created could work. The ingredients she had compiled up to then were to be procured by Crowley and Newton. On the 14th day after Aziraphale’s disappearance, the spell was finished, but some ingredients were still missing. Crowley’s patience had reached its limit. After all, he was certain that Hastur hadn’t kidnapped the angel to have a nice cup of tea with him.

"Well, we still need, aside from that stupid dress I ordered, holy anointing oil," explained Anathema and pulled out her notebook "There are different translations of the Bible and accordingly, different ingredients are mentioned. The Septuagint, the oldest translation from Hebrew into Greek, states that it must contain irises and another bible says it has to be cassia. It seems to be a complicated subject and I want to keep every risk as small as possible, so I need the oil with the original recipe." 

She ripped a page out of the notebook and handed it to Newt. "Here's a list of shops selling ointment oil. Please go and check the ingredients. The correct ingredients can be found on the back of the flask.” 

“I know where the ingredients can be found, I’m not an idiot,” he muttered as he left the bookshop. 

Unfortunately, Newt wasn’t successful because the oils either had the wrong recipe or exact ingredients were not listed at all. Anathema found what they were looking for in an online shop that could deliver the oil the next day. By the next day, the remaining missing items had arrived. 

“Crowley, how good is your Latin? “ 

"Uhmmm." 

"Well, I' ll read then. I thought it would be safer if you did it because of your emotional bond, but I think it's more important that it's pronounced correctly. I suppose I look better in that robe too." She smirked. 

Crowley just nodded. Finally, things went in the right direction. 

"Oh, wait a minute." She looked around briefly. "We still need something, something personal, you know, like in those movies. Items of clothing, jewellery, ---" 

"Shoe?" Anathema and Crowley turned around to Newt, who just came back from the trash bins. He stood in the doorway, holding one of Aziraphale's shoes in his hands. 

The next morning, they prepared the flat for the ritual. Crowley made sure that the larger pieces of furniture from Aziraphale’s sitting room materialised in his flat and Anathema began to paint a circle with a pentagram and the corresponding symbols on the floor while Newt placed the candles and lit them. Anathema handed Crowley a small brass bowl with sand, a piece of coal glowing in it. 

"Put this onto the coal to uh, fumigate." She shoved some pieces of resin into his hand. 

They looked at each other and Anathema took a breath and began to recite the spell. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The past days (weeks?) in hell weren't pleasant at all, the demons had apparently come to an agreement about Aziraphale’s treatment. They continued to appear separately, with Hastur being responsible for pain and humiliation and the lizard-like demon being responsible for humiliation and pain. That he still hadn't received any information about why he was there at all was no longer his major concern. His main goal was to endure the torments that he was regularly exposed to. Hastur as well as the other demon had come up with some new ideas in the last days. To distract himself, he tried to recall memories from before Hell, like ducks in the park, marshmallows by a bonfire, picnics, a rainy Sunday afternoon in bed. 

He didn't listen to Hastur, who stood in front of him while he himself was kneeling. The handcuffs behind his back connected to rings in the floor through chains made it impossible for him to fall over, as he would otherwise have. 

"...and on the same basis this knife was forged." With a finger, he tapped on the cuneiform engraved on the blade. "If hellfire can't hurt you, this little thing should at least bring a little thrill into the game." 

He pressed the blade against the left pectoral muscle. The sound created by the contact could best be described as a drop of water falling into a hot pan. Aziraphale closed her eyes and groaned with pain. His hands - his fingers were indeed lacking some of the nails by now - clenched to fists. 

"Shall I stop?" Hastur gave him a fake smile. 

"... yes," he replied quietly. 

"I'm sure you can do better than that. can't you?" He held the blade against his throat, the smell of burnt skin was disgusting. 

"Please." 

"Hmm." Another sizzling cut across the upper arm. 

"Please, I am begging you, please stop!" Aziraphale cried out. 

"All right, all right. I'll let that pass. But only because I'm not allowed to cut you up into fillets. I'd love to serve you to your demon on a silver plate, whore." He spat in his face before he left the room. 

Aziraphale sat down on his heels. He barely had time to take care of his pain when he felt something tugging at him. The pulling sensation grew stronger and turned into a tearing. An unpleasant one. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The circle began to glow. Similar to the one Crowley used just two weeks ago to call Heaven, only this time in an infernal red-orange. 

"...veni Aziraphale," Anathema ended the spell. 

Sparkles danced in the air, the circle was glowing stronger now. 

Something that felt like an invisible hand seized Aziraphale and he froze. The grip was _pulsating_ , icy and at the same time scorching hot. It tore at his corporeal form first, then it went deeper to get a grip of his true self. 

"Oh dear, what is this," Aziraphale mumbled, writhing in agony shortly thereafter. Apparently someone down here had developed a new method of inflicting pain without actually being present. Very effective. 

He gasped as the grip intensified and blood began to seep out of the wounds under the cuffs. The floor beneath him disappeared for a split second and was replaced by wooden planks. He heard someone talking. Crowley? 

Crowley, Anathema and Newt stood open-mouthed around the circle. "You made it," Newt whispered to Anathema. 

"Yeah… looks like this is working," she replied hesitantly. 

Something was happening on the floor. They could see a shadowy figure, it had to be Aziraphale. _Something's not right, he's not actually ‘materialising’,_ all three of them thought more or less simultaneously. He seemed to appear for a fraction of a second just to vanish again. Although he could be seen more clearly at every appearance, he somehow couldn't be locked in the summoning circle. His face was distorted with pain. Crowley was the first to notice his unusual posture. The wings were partially covering him, but as he walked around the circle Crowley realised that Aziraphale's arms were tied behind his back. And the bonds were glowing. 

"No, no, we have to stop this, it's useless, he's in pain!" 

"If we stop now, we can' t bring him back!" Anathema yelled at him. 

But Crowley came to the conclusion that there was only one possible option; first he kicked a candle over with his foot, the same foot then destroyed the outer line of the circle. He jumped and let himself fall on the spot where the angel kept reappearing. He landed on Aziraphale’s back the next time he materialised and Crowley disappeared with him as he vanished. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They manifested in a room together, presumably the one in which Aziraphale was held captive. 

"Aziraphale, angel, it's me. Fuck, are you all right?" He reached out to touch Aziraphale’s face. 

He was trembling, his forehead sweaty. He just stared at him. More than that, he seemed to turn away from his hand as far as his chains would allow. 

“It’s not real,” Crowley heard him whisper again. All he could do was sitting next to him, waiting until he had calmed down. He dropped the hand he raised to place on Aziraphale’s shoulder when he noticed that he recoiled from it. 

Crowley looked around the room and he saw the feathers lying around as if someone had plucked a goose. He examined Aziraphale who sat there with his eyes closed, whispering something incomprehensible. His wings didn't look so bad at first sight as far as the feathers were concerned, even though the feathers on the floor left a different impression. They would grow back. However, he was more worried about one wing that was unnaturally bent from the second joint onwards. dislocated, perhaps, he thought. He looked at the other wounds briefly. His fear of losing his temper if he'd see what they had done to him was too great. He would take care of the smaller and larger wounds, bruises and welts at home. They first had to come up with something, he thought while he peered at the door. 

The knee-jerk reaction to follow him was probably not the best idea he ever had, as he was now as helplessly stuck in Hell as Aziraphale. He placed the brass bowl he was still holding in his hand aside and moved towards Aziraphale cautiously. 

“Aziraphale, please. You really have to help me, we gotta get out of here. I need your help..” 

It was as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes for a short moment and he looked at the demon with a frown. "Crowley? You can't be here. It’s not possible.” 

"Yes angel. I can, I am here. We tried to summon you. Anathema has… at first, it looked like it worked but you didn't stay. You disappeared again, I followed you, I didn't know if it would work but it did obviously." 

"It's probably because of that," Aziraphale replied silently and raised his battered wrists. Crowley snapped his fingers and the chains fell to the ground. But the cuffs didn't move at all. Carefully he reached for one hand and Aziraphale didn't flinch as Crowley pulled it towards him and looked at the inscription. 

"Huh. That's somewhat strange," he muttered. He tried to sound casual, but the thoughts were rushing through his head. He wouldn't be able to remove them with a miracle. The energy they radiated was the same as Aziraphale's, it seemed as if they were draining him to maintain their flow of energy. At the same time, they were hellbound and it would be impossible to leave Hell with them. The key had to be found, which forced them to wait until someone with a key would come along. 

He squeezed the hand he was still holding gently and looked at Aziraphale. He noticed the burns on his chest and neck. “Oh angel. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.” He had the strong urge to hold him in his arms, take him as far away as possible and heal his injuries - as far as he could do that as a demon. But first, they had to get out of Hell. Immediately. Later he would make up for everything. 

He got up and went to the sink. The water running out of the tap was surprisingly fresh and clear. He tapped the bowl with his fingertips. “Aziraphale. _Angel_.” 

The angel had that glassy, faraway look again. He was biting his lower lip and didn’t respond. 

Crowley went back to his knees. " **Aziraphale** . Please. I need your help. If anyone is going to step through that door, we’ll have to... we have nothing but this." He held the bowl in front of his nose and pointed with his free hand to the tap. "Can you... can you bless the water?" 

Finally, Aziraphale looked at him. But he shook his head vigorously. " **No**. No, absolutely not. It's too dangerous,… if you… God, no." He stopped. 

"Trust me, nothing bad will happen. We have to get out of here and I don't have any other idea, okay? Our only chance is this. You can do this and then we are out of here. Your – our friends are waiting for us, they’re worried about you. Anathema tried so hard to summon you and I’m so sorry we hurt you. We didn’t know. Sorry...” 

“All right,” he said. “Give me that bloody bowl.” 

After filling the bowl with water, he placed it in the middle of the table. With wobbly legs, Aziraphale rose. They had left him sitting there since the last punishment-for-whatever, and he felt like his legs didn't belong to him. Shaking his head again, he looked at the bowl. "That's not a good idea," he whispered. 

“ **Aziraphale**.” He couldn't deny that he was getting impatient. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At that moment Hastur realised that the safest place in the room was near the other demon and he was about to start heading towards Crowley. That was also the moment Aziraphale finally awoke from his stupor and took action. Without much fuss and overall ungainly, he threw the entire bowl against Hastur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's me again.

The angel sighed and started to speak. "Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei patris omnipotentis..."

Crowley let him continue the blessing while standing near the door. It was quiet outside. The fact that Aziraphale opted for the Latin version, which was much longer than the one in use today, made him roll his eyes. He didn't want to waste any time here. 

Of course, he was glad that Aziraphale seemed to recover from his state of shock and reacted to anything at all. Immediately he was ashamed of his impatience when he became aware of how miserable the angel looked. 

An unpleasant glow made its way into his consciousness. It could not be seen visually, but the energetic glow emanating from the water was a sing that Aziraphale was successful. 

The only thing they didn't have was a proper plan. Since Aziraphale let himself sink to the ground again, Crowley settled down next to him. He noticed the fingers covered with clotted blood and the missing nails on the ring and small finger of both hands. 

"Who did this?" He nodded his head towards his hand. 

"Hastur." 

"Everything? His hand gesticulated in the direction of Aziraphale’s body. 

"Most of what you see, yes." His gaze turned to the ground when he answered. 

Crowley's clenched his fists so tightly that it almost hurt. _Channel that anger._ He was filled with rage, and he was annoyed because of Aziraphale's defensive behaviour. He was deeply ashamed of the latter. He tried to relax. 

"Listen... _You_ have to use the holy water, you know that, don't you? I can't. I'd do it, but you can't get out of here if I _won't make it_." 

Aziraphale turned his head towards him and looked at him for a while. Something in Crowley seemed to tighten when he looked into his eyes but he had to keep a clear head. "Please, Aziraphale. Help me get us out of here." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hastur had been in a very good mood for the last two weeks - by his standards. Corrupting a soul was one thing. That was everyday work. The torture was fun. Torturing an angel was pure pleasure. _This blessed incompetent idiot was right,_ he thought to himself. The angel indeed emitted an energy, as long as he pressed the right buttons, which could be described as intoxicating. Whistling a disharmonic melody, he swung the little bag in his hand where he kept his tools. He opened the door and was about to insult the angel as he paused. In the place where he had chained the demon's whore yesterday, said demon was standing now. 

"Hastur!" Crowley spread out his arms and grinned at him. "Long time no see! As I've heard, you're a big shot down here right now." 

The aforementioned demon took a step back at first, but considered himself safe in his territory and grinned impudently. 

"Crowley! I have no idea how you got in here in order to visit that little bitch of yours, but you won't get out of here that soon. I could offer you a seat for the show, though?" 

Without a warning, Crowley attacked the other demon, with his teeth bared and endowed with fangs. They both fell to the ground and Crowley scored the first hit. Hastur laughed with bloody lips. 

"You don't stand a chance, Crowley. Even if you get out of here, I'll find you. You and your angel, who’s so dear to your little black heart. Oh, you're here way too early, we weren't finished with him yet." 

"Why do you care about an angel?" 

“As you have shown us very clearly, neither Hellfire nor Holy Water can harm you and your little friend.” He lowered his voice and continued. "Do you think you can get away with it so easily, without any further consequences? You've robbed us of the war, the chance of vengeance we've been waiting for thousands of years. And you fucking murdered my friend. How dare you kill another demon? ...so a fellow demon had this idea; you ruined the war for us, therefore we break your toy! Beelzebub was skeptical, but what would have happened in the worst case? At its worst, he would be discorporated, or he would have escaped. But your angel only tried that once. But like I said, you're too early. I would have loved to give you back a completely useless, whimpering angelic vessel to deal with for the rest of eternity." 

Crowley growled, grabbed Hastur by his dirty collar and hit his head on the floor. "I'll kill you." 

"Good luck with that, I'm sure I'll still get a new body and find you before you've found your way up!" 

With one hand Crowley kept Hastur on the ground, while the other was searching his pockets, against which the demon resisted unsuccessfully. Crowley was brimming with adrenaline, making him superior to Hastur in this situation. Eventually, he found a small metal object, which he pocketed before he stood up again and pulled Hastur up by his collar. 

“I don't think you're gonna stop us anymore once we're done with you." With a firm thrust, he pushed Hastur against the wall. Only then Hastur noticed Aziraphale, whom he hadn't paid any attention to while wrangling with Crowley. He was standing in the corner next to the door, leaning against the wall, his hand holding something that made Hastur uncomfortable. Then it dawned on him what the bowl contained. "You wouldn't dare,” was all he brought out. 

Crowley watched Aziraphale over from the opposite corner of the room and feared that Hastur might be right. Aziraphale looked terrified. “Angel, this is something I can’t do for you. I would if I could, you know that.” 

At that moment Hastur realised that the safest place in the room was near the other demon and he was about to start heading towards Crowley. That was also the moment Aziraphale finally awoke from his stupor and took action. Without much fuss and overall ungainly, he threw the entire bowl against Hastur. The demon, already in the jump, fell to the ground awkwardly and had already melted down to a mushy puddle before he could call other demons to his attention by screaming. 

Aziraphale was breathing heavily while staring at the reeking puddle, formerly known as Hastur. Crowley also had to pull himself together to avoid gagging or worse. Instead, he approached Aziraphale. 

"Here's the key." Hesitantly, he reached for a damaged wrist and tried to find the lock. After both hands had been released, Aziraphale immediately removed them from Crowley's grip and let his wings disappear. He whimpered as he moved the injured wing and breathed a sigh of relief once his wings were no longer visible. 

"Better, angel?" The addressed angel nodded, but still looked at him carefully. _He doesn't trust you._

Crowley put the handcuffs in Hastur's bag and slung it over his shoulder as he walked to the door that opened without any particular difficulty. Of course, no other special locks were required for the bound angel. 

Crowley listened carefully and stepped into the corridor. He looked back. "Are you coming?" 

Aziraphale hesitated for several seconds and when he finally started moving, the demon noticed the limping. Since demons weren't angels (anymore), they weren't meant to do good. Although Crowley could let his actions speak for themselves, miracles like healing were not his strength. Furthermore, he didn't want to risk being discovered just because of the energy he would release by performing a miracle. Luckily, Aziraphale let Crowley put his arm over his shoulder without resistance to support him as they moved. 

The corridors they walked through were deserted, Crowley could hardly believe his luck. He could hear a distant bass sound and something that was probably music. "They dance. Lucky us, maybe we'll find a way out before running into someone.” While they were walking away from the music, Crowley looked into every room that wasn't locked up. 

“I'm looking for stairs. We have to take a side exit, otherwise, the risk of being discovered is too great. I hope I can get us to the surface in London.” He just kept talking even though the angel didn't respond. As he looked at Aziraphale he saw that he was clenching his jaw. 

They stopped. "Do you need a break?" 

"No, I just want to get out of here, let's keep going." 

They walked silently for a moment until Crowle spotted the stairwell behind an open door. The stairs ended in the ceiling. What looked like an architectural joke was actually an exit. 

"We're almost there, I just need to focus for a second." He took a deep breath and nodded to Aziraphale. “Hold on, angel.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

No one noticed how the earth bulged under a tree. It could have been a molehill, but it grew steadily and finally spat out two human shaped beings. Crowley shook off the clods of earth still sticking in his hairs. _Not done that in a long time, completely out of practice,_ he thought, his still holding Aziraphale's arm tightly. 

Hell had actually released them in London. At least Crowley had been able to control that. He could overhear a conversation from passing tourists and picked up the words "Connaught Bar" with relief as he looked around the park again. They seemed to be in Grosvenor Square. Nobody else was there and it was already dark. 

Aziraphale also checked the surroundings, literally. With shaky hands he reached down to the ground they had just breached, letting the soil trickle through his fingers. "We're here, we're really back." 

For the first time, he smiled when they looked at each other. "Oh Crowley, you made it, you got us out." The demon got down on his knees to hold him and Aziraphale started crying. He clung to Crowley despite the pain of his injuries and the demon feared that his sobbing would attract people's attention. “Shh, angel, everything is all right now, we’re back. We're near my place, you just have to hold on a little longer.” He tried to comfort him, kissing the cracked lips, tear-drenched cheeks, and dishevelled hair. 

“My waistcoat is gone,” Aziraphale sniffed. 

“That's not my biggest concern right now. Let's go to my place. Take this.” He snapped his fingers and gave him the shirt he just created. It was rather quiet on the streets at the time, but he preferred not to walk around with a half-naked person in his arm who looked... like the angel looked at that moment. He helped him get dressed and they left Grosvenor Square. 

They were focused on getting to Crowley's flat as quickly as possible and remained silent along the way. Arriving at the flat, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

"What do you prefer, do you want to take a shower or should I just...?" 

"Shower. I'd like a shower, please." 

"Of course, come with me." 

He led him into the bathroom and wanted to help him remove his clothes but Aziraphale pushed his hand away, stepping back. "You can wait outside, I can do this alone." He didn’t look at Crowley. 

“But… Angel. Don't be stupid; you can hardly stand. Are you sure you wouldn't rather take a bath?" 

He shook his head. "Just a shower. Crowley, please." 

Crowley shrugged. “Fine. As you wish.” He left the bathroom. _Why won't you let me help you, you stubborn bastard?_ He pinched the bridge of his nose. _He's been through a lot, calm down now. What to do next?_ The next thing he had to do was deal with Aziraphale's wounds. Maybe Anathema and her not-that-stupid boyfriend could get something at the pharmacy. He should call them anyway and tell them he and Aziraphale had made it back. 

He let the water run over his hair and over the rest of his body. Aziraphale held on to the shower holder with one hand to reduce the pressure on his leg, washing his hair with the other one. He hated himself for his behaviour, but in the last few days, he had been repeatedly led to believe that he was back on Earth. He was quite sure he was really out of Hell this time, but the doubts kept coming back. Absentmindedly, his fingers brushed over one of the bite marks. He sat down in the shower, burying his face in his hands.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley stood by the window, looking down at the streets of Mayfair. Only a few hours ago he had travelled to hell, although he was in fact locked out. Anathema made it possible for him to save the angel, and he had to admit to himself that he felt an affection and gratitude for the humans for which he would have laughed at Aziraphale just a few weeks ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I'm sorry, I didn't have the time to translate.  
> We will continue this, I promise.

“Crowley? Where are you?!” Anathema waved at Newt.

“What happened, where is he?” Newt asked. 

“Shh! What, no. Not you... Okay... Yes, we’ll have a look and bring some... Yes, we’ll get some at the pharmacy. Do you need something too, are you all right? Yes, we’ll hurry, bye.” 

She turned around to look at Newt. "They're in Crowley's apartment." 

"How the hell did they end up there?" 

"He hasn't told me yet, I'm sure he will, later. We are supposed to bring some clothes for Aziraphale. Can you get some down? I'll look for a pharmacy that's still open and Crowley will send me his address in a minute." 

Newt stood in front of the old wardrobe in Aziraphale's hardly used bedroom, wondering about two things. The first one that surprised him was that the angel actually had some trousers, suits and shirts hanging in his closet, although he always seemed to be wearing the same outfit. The second surprise was the smell that struck him. He was expecting a mixture of mothballs and sachets of lavender as he was used to from his mother, but the clothes smelled as if they had just come from the dry cleaner. _Immortality and fresh laundry all the time, how convenient,_ he thought. A three-piece suit and a shirt in his hand, he went back to Anathema, who was already waiting for him downstairs. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley stood by the window, looking down at the streets of Mayfair. Only a few hours ago he had travelled to hell, although he was in fact locked out. Anathema made it possible for him to save the angel, and he had to admit to himself that he felt an affection and gratitude for the humans for which he would have laughed at Aziraphale just a few weeks ago. He destroyed a demon. _No, stop. Aziraphale did that. He had killed. Maybe that's why he's kinda beside himself._ The angel didn't seem to have quite realised where they were. After the outburst of feeling, he became quiet and reserved again. Due to the circumstances, Crowley didn't want to push him. But still... 

He turned away from the window and walked through the flat restlessly, waiting for Aziraphale to come out of the bathroom. After a while, he walked towards the bathroom door and listened. The shower was still running, but he unlocked the door nonetheless. 

He could hardly see him through the heavy steam, but apparently, he'd sat down in the shower, head resting against the wall, his eyes closed. Now that dirt and blood had been washed away, it was easier to see the injuries. The welts, caused by a whip or whatever, shone red and something seemed to have bitten him, semicircular marks with needle-sized puncture wounds were visible all over his body. His lower back, hips, and bottom, previously concealed by his trousers, were covered in bruises in various shades of blue and purple, prompting Crowley to involuntarily think of Monet's Water Lilies. 

He gritted his teeth and willed himself to stay calm. "Angel... are you done showering?" He took another step into the room and picked a towel from a shelf. With a thought, he turned off the water and finally, Aziraphale opened his eyes, blinking several times. Crowley held out his hand, which he accepted and helped him up. Aziraphale let himself be wrapped in the towel without hesitation and led to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, while Crowley went to the closet, searching something in an IKEA storage box. 

Finally, he pulled out a pair of pyjamas. Aziraphale, still sitting on the bed with his towel wrapped around him, looked up at him as he stood in front of him. “Here," he handed him the pyjama pants, "Put them on. Bookg... I mean, Anathema and Newt are about to bring a few things over." 

He grabbed the pants and put them on hastily. Crowley settled down next to him and placed his hand on Aziraphale's. "You know I don't have the ability to heal you the way you could do it. I’m not made for healing. I wish it wouldn't be like this because the last thing I want is to hurt you, you know? Let me see what I can do for you." 

Aziraphale just sat there, biting his bottom lip. 

"Look. We're back, we’re back on Earth and you're safe." _Please, talk to me, tell me what’s bothering you_ , he thought, rather frustrated. 

“Why did you buy a pyjama that wouldn't fit you?" Aziraphale asked in a quiet voice, fiddling with the drawstring of the blue trousers. 

"I, uh, saw them a few years ago and. Well, they caught my eye at Liberty's, among all the bright colours and patterns. I simply thought of… you. So I bought them. Later it occurred to me that it was awkward… well, an inappropriate gift, given that we were officially ‘adversaries’ at the time." 

Aziraphale actually smiled a bit. "Purchased? You paid for it? Huh. When was that anyway?" 

"Been a while," Crowley replied, avoiding the issue. "Now let's see what I can do to help you." 

The doorbell made them both flinch. "Only the humans," Crowley said and patted his hand. "Just sit tight." 

After they had entered the apartment, Anathema gave him a brief hug and handed him a paper bag, Newt patted him on the shoulder. “Good to see you.” He carried a bigger bag, probably containing some clothes. 

"We're so glad you're back. Everything we could get without a prescription is in here. Where is he, how is he?" She already walked past Crowley and made her way towards the bedroom with Newt following her. 

"Wait." He blocked their way. "It's, uh, he's not well. Maybe you guys should go back to the bookshop and I'll call you. Thanks for --" 

"It's all right, Crowley," a hushed voice came out of the bedroom. "Let them come in." Aziraphale was still sitting on the same spot, smiling at the humans. "Excuse me for welcoming you like… this. But I wanted to thank you... so much. You've done everything in your power to help me. To get me out of there" He looked down at his hands with wet eyes. "I am, no, we are lucky to have friends like you." 

Anathema hesitantly put her hand on his shoulder, careful not to touch a sore spot. "Anytime, Aziraphale. Call us if you need anything or if you want to talk." 

Shortly after, they wanted to head home, after all, they hadn't been there for a while and Crowley escorted them to the door. He cleared his throat. "I'm not the kind of guy for that. But. Thank you. You know I would've been screwed without you." After he too had said goodbye, the demon came back into the bedroom. 

"Where were we?" Crowley sat down next to Aziraphale and took his hands back into his own, inspected the open wounds on his wrists, the burns on his chest and neck, and the deep cut on his upper arm, which was bleeding lightly since he took a shower. Aziraphale unfolded his wings, his face contorted with pain. If wings and body resided on the same plane, they hurt even more. 

"Very good," Crowley encouraged him and closed his eyes to focus on the injuries. Aziraphale gasped as he felt the energy flowing through him. Crowley sensed every injury, cut, bruise, and burn. _What?_ He frowned and opened his mouth slightly before closing it again. He turned his attention to the elbow joint of the wing and let it adjust itself. Aziraphale couldn't suppress a soft yelp, but he didn't move. Once again gathering the remaining strength, he forced small injuries to close. The wrists and injuries from the knife remained unchanged. 

"Fuck," Crowley gasped while he tried to heal him. "I can't, that...’s too much, too... dark. He opened his eyes and looked at the angel. "I'msorry. We have to let the rest of it heal the conventional way. You’ve got to let it heal. Aziraphale, I'm sorry." 

"Oh, my dear, you did very well, I'm feeling much better already." the angel smiled at him. 

"As soon as you are rested, your body can heal itself." In the bag that Anathema has brought he found ointments and bandages. He applied some of it to the remaining injuries, applied a bandage to the wrists and arm, and provided the fingertips with plasters. 

"Do you want something to eat? Drink? _Or maybe even talk?_

"No, I... I'd rather not at the moment. Thank you." 

"Uhm, okay then." He ran his hand through his hair and shrugged. "The feathers will grow back quickly," he noted, looking at the still dirty, plucked wings. With a wave of Crowley's hand, they were clean again. "Just give them a shower too, next time," he advised him and winked. "Then I'll groom them. But first," he pointed to the bed. "First you should rest. Sleep to be exact. That would do you good, it's important for healing.” 

Startled, Aziraphale looked at the bed, but then nodded willingly and laid down after he made his wings disappear. Crowley remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his clenched fists pressing into the mattress. "Should I go? Or can I stay with you?" _Please don’t send me away, angel._ Aziraphale turned to him and gave him a scrutinizing look. "Stay." 

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's clothes were gone except for his underwear and he lay down next to the angel. He stared at the ceiling while Aziraphale was facing him, but he looked past him at the wall. With a bad conscience, Crowley realised that he had not imagined the reunion with Aziraphale this way. He hadn't assumed it would be a nice or even romantic evening. But that he would be able to count the sentences Aziraphale had spoken to him was something he hadn't expected either. He sighed and kept looking at the ceiling. 

After a moment of silence, he looked sideways to see if the other was still awake. Of course, and despite the exhaustion written in the face, Aziraphale didn't seem to have the intention to close his eyes. Crowley cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, ‘m sorry I forced you to kill Hastur. To destroy him. I know you can' t handle this well. That you've never killed anyone before, that is." 

“I'm glad he doesn't exist anymore," Aziraphale replied to Crowley's surprise. The demon turned onto his side to look at him more closely. "Throughout history, we have both been... shaped by the assignments we have received. And we've helped to shape societies. At least partially. Coalitions were formed because of our influence, revolutions were initiated. Wars have been won and, of course, lost at the same time, and all of this has always claimed sacrifices. Collateral damages. Human lives. The destruction of this demon was probably one of the few useful deaths that I have to answer for." Aziraphale felt that his eyes were growing heavy, exhaustion was overpowering him. "But the other demon, the one who---" he whispered and fell asleep. 

Crowley adjusted the blanket, let himself fall on his back again and pinched the bridge of his nose. Carefully, he placed a hand on Aziraphale's chest and felt it rise and fall. _He's here again, but somehow… not entirely. Not yet._ The steady breaths he felt under his hand made him drowsy, and contrary to his intentions not to sleep that night, he nodded off, worn-out from the journey to Hell and back, and not least by the exhausting attempt to heal Aziraphale.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes are so familiar to me and I can literally... read you when I look into them. I had so much time to learn it. And I realised that normally you don’t think that much about someone's eyes if you don't feel, uh, deep affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of talking in this chapter.  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> We'd be happy if you'd leave a friendly comment (or kudo). 🖤

Something pulled at his blanket. It was terribly hot in the room. Aziraphale opened his eyes with some difficulty and couldn't figure out where he was at first. _Oh yes, right. Crowley's flat._ Someone moved next to him, a hand slid under the blanket, gently touching his arm. He turned his head with a lot of effort and faced Crowley, to whom the hand belonged.

"Aziraphale, you awake?" Crowley asked superfluously. He slowly pulled the blanket away. 

He exhaled contentedly, the coolness of the night was a pleasant feeling on his overheated skin. When did he get back, how did he get here? "Crowley? it's quite warm in here, isn't it?" 

Crowley hummed. "It's always warm where you are, angel." He drew closer to Aziraphale and put his cool hand on the heated cheek. His eyes were glowing dimly in the darkness and a smile curled his lips. 

He must have closed his eyes for several seconds, because when he opened them again, Crowley was above him. He bent over to his ear and Aziraphale felt his breath in the crook of his neck. "I missed you. I need you so much." Crowley's fingers wandered from his cheek down his neck, shoulder and arm, and stopped on his hip. 

Something was off and it was a familiar feeling by now. While Crowley was kissing Aziraphale's neck, his hand started to work at the waistband of his trousers. "No! Stop that! Aziraphale yelled at him and tried to push Crowley away. "This isn’t right, it is not real!" 

He threw his head back and laughed. "Do you want to play hard-to-get, Aziraphale? You've been so dedicated up to now." He threw his leg over Aziraphale's hip and straddled him. "Oh angel, as always, the sight of you is a revelation." Although he tried hard, he couldn't manage to push Crowley away. The demon effortlessly slapped his hand away, and a searing pain ran through Aziraphale's arm. 

"Come on now, don't make a fuss, you worthless bitch." With one hand he held his jaw in a firm grip and moved closer. Crowley pressed his lips to the angel's mouth, forcing it to open. He tried again to push the demon away with his hands, but he seemed to be powerless. 

Then, Aziraphale bit him in his lower lip. With an angry outcry, Crowley pulled back. "You'll pay for this," he murmured as he wiped the blood off his lip. Without warning, he slapped him right in the face. Before Aziraphale could recover from the light-headedness caused by the blow, Crowley's hands were on him again. On his throat, to be specific, and he started choking him vigorously. Neither angels nor demons need oxygen, but still, the human body reacted with panic to the cutting off the air supply. His hands reached for his opponent's forearms in a desperate attempt to break away from him, but Crowley just smiled at the efforts and didn't let go. With one knee he pushed Aziraphale's legs apart and whispered, "How would you like it today, angel? How are you going to serve me?" 

Aziraphale let his hands fall to the side. Tears shot into his eyes while he was gasping for air desperately. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Crowley's mouth, distorted into a grin, showing razor-sharp teeth. 

The next thing he was aware of was someone patting him on the cheek with the palm of their hand. He woke up with a start and realised that he was still gasping for air. Crowley was kneeling next to him with his hand resting on his upper arm and a worried expression on his face. 

"Shhh, slow down. Aziraphale. Breathe. Slowly. You're hyperventilating." He held a bag with the name of a pharmacy on it over his nose and mouth while Aziraphale kept wheezing. 

While breathing into the bag, he touched his throat. Crowley took his hand, put it in his own and looked at him in concern. He didn't speak until the breath slowed down and the panic subsided. 

“Nightmare?” 

"Yes. It was as if..." He stopped. "Yes, a nightmare. I'm sorry if I scared you, dear. It is... it' s awfully warm in here, isn’t it?" 

"No, it's not," Crowley replied with a frown and felt the other's forehead. "Fuck, your skin is hot like you’re burning up. Are we getting a fever, angel?" 

"Of course I don't get a fever," Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Or... do I?" Crowley felt a sudden rush of affection at the sight of that well-known facial expression, even though he realised that the angel’s skin was indeed way too hot, which was uncommon and therefore worrying. 

Aziraphale let himself sink back onto the pillow and whimpered. "On the other hand, isn’t there a first time for everything?” He smiled weakly. 

“Let's take a look at this.” Crowley leaned over him as he carefully removed a bandage. "Looks like an inflammation, I guess. That must’ve been that dagger from Hastur, right? It was in his bag. The signs were engraved all over it... We are lucky that they didn't try the Hellfire again. I’ll disinfect the wound and re-bandage it. And your wrists too." 

While Crowley was focussing on cleansing and bandaging the wounds, Aziraphale was observing him. The urge to explain himself was strong, but he didn't want feelings to take over again, so he chose his words carefully. “I know I wasn't gone long, compared to… to our time on Earth, for example. But during this time reality was turned upside down for me – over and over again. To be honest, I’m -ouch- I am still oscillating between the feeling of happiness to be safe and the fear that this whole scenario will collapse like a house of cards. I can no longer rely on what I see and… or physically feel. 

“You want to tell me what happened?” Crowley was finished with the bandages, he put them aside and looked at him questioningly. 

"No." Aziraphale snapped at him, surprised by his own voice. "No," he repeated more calmly. "Not at the moment, dear. Maybe later.” 

The room swayed so he closed his eyes, he was afraid that reality would be replaced by another one, again. But Crowley was still the same demon when he let a bowl from the kitchen appear next to the bed, already filled with cold water and a cloth floating in it. Crowley placed the cloth on his forehead and Aziraphale sighed with relief. "Thank you," he whispered. 

"Should I... I mean, can I lie down next to you again?" Crowley sat on the bed and looked at him irresolutely. 

Aziraphale gave him a nod and the demon lay down in a fluid motion. After a few minutes Crowley was sure that he was fast asleep again but suddenly, Aziraphale he turned his head and looked at him with glassy eyes. 

“Crowley, please can you... tell me something? Anything. I feel like I'm losing my head. I need something to take my mind off it. Maybe a story out of the life of Anthony J. Crowley I don't know yet?” He was smiling but Crowley was aware of the fear in his eyes. 

"Hmm, let me think. There's actually nothing in the last 6000 years that matters where you haven't been around me, you know?" He gave him a crooked smile and propped his chin in the palm of his left hand. 

“Once upon a time, 400 years ago an angel left town to ride to Scotland... You were gone a couple of weeks at that time. Maybe you had performed the blessing and tempting in Edinburgh already, I don't know. Hamlet at the Globe was quite well attended and even though I, you know, found it to be rather lousy, I was highly satisfied with myself. 

I went to your house and asked the maid if you told them when you'd be back. Unfortunately, she didn't know anything and so after waiting a few more days I got on my horse and rode north. Completely pointless when you think about it, isn't it? I wanted to avoid this trip in the first place and now I found myself on the back of this uncomfortable animal for several days - willingly". 

"Huh," Aziraphale muttered sleepily. "I didn't know you followed me." 

Crowley chuckled softly as he washed the lukewarm cloth in the bowl before putting it back on his forehead. 

"You said I should tell you something you don't know yet. Anyway, I arrived in Edinburgh and I could feel that you had completed your tasks, well, the blessings at least. I could feel them. That some cattle had in fact disappeared from the pastures I heard from the humans I asked. Your mission was accomplished and that was most probably the reason I couldn't sense you there. You were already on your way home. 

The whole trip was in vain and I didn't even know what came over me - why I went up to Edingburh at all. I left for London the next day, although I was in no hurry anymore. I didn't even know if _you'd_ be back in London at all. And so I was standing on that beach, staring at the sea like an idiot. Really Aziraphale, I don't know for how long. And I realised several things that day. For one thing, after that journey, I would try to avoid riding another 500 miles on a horse at any cost." 

He looked at his fingernails before continuing. 

“I wanted to see you because, uh, well first of all, because I simply wanted to. I needed to tell you what the atmosphere was like during the play. I imagined how happy you'd be and that you'd look at me the way you did before… When we first met at the Globe, when I promised you that the play would be a success. You were so full of joy that I had to leave because I couldn't stand it. And at the same time, I could not get enough of it. Sounds perfectly logical, I know. 

On that day I left Edinburgh I stopped at a beach and I was standing there and I couldn't take my eyes off the waves that had the colours of your eyes when you're happy. When you're laughing. I rode the whole way back along the coast whenever possible and every day the sea looked different. Thunderclouds made it appear darker and I had to think about how upset you were looking at me when I first brought the arrangement into play… When the sun was shining down on the water, I thought of the Garden, where you first looked at me, when we were standing on the wall. I can't believe I'm saying something this corny but your eyes are like the sea, angel.” 

After an unsuccessful attempt to stifle a yawn, he interlocked his hands behind his head and apparently spotted something very interesting on the ceiling. As he went on, he avoided looking at Aziraphale. 

“Your eyes are so familiar to me and I can literally... read you when I look into them. I had so much time to learn it. And I realised that normally you don’t think that much about someone's eyes if you don't feel, uh, deep affection. We weren't on the same side back then, you kept pointing that out. It made it even worse for me. A real friendship was out of the question. And then, I was in Scarborough already, it came to me in a flash.” 

A faint snore caused him to look up. Aziraphale was sleeping again. "Hey, I'm trying to tell you important things here," Crowley whispered affectionately. The fever had dropped, he noticed with relief while he took the cloth off his forehead to wash it out again. Crowley let his fingers trace along the angel's ear, down to his jaw. He lingered there for a moment before leaning towards him to kiss his cheek. 

Had his own selfishness brought them to this point? Maybe Hell would have left Aziraphale alone if they hadn't…


End file.
